Braindump-Ideas: un-edited, unfiltered and available for anyone to use
by Fulminanz
Summary: These are the story ideas that never amounted to anything. They're un-edited and probably mostly stupid. However, I figured maybe someone finds some inspiration in them for their own story. Have fun.
1. Bronze Galleon

**Bronze Galleon \- My goal with this one was to explore the magical world a bit more. Harry is taken from Godric Hollow by a thug and sold to a Goblin in Babylon. There he meets his best friend, a house-elve that is free of the curse that plagues the houseelve species. To make a name for themselves they go out to steal their first bit of loot. They steal a bit of Bronze and a Galleon - names that should stick to them. They join the Varangian Guard and get trained to be mercenaries. Their first real mission takes them to Hogwarts. That is where I stopped writing as I realized I had lost the focus on what I wanted to do with this story.**

 **I still think that legendary cities like Babylon hold great potential for stories (as you will see time and time again in my dumped ideas), but I haven't figured out yet how to do it in a way that it is both interesting to readers and myself.**

 _Chapter 1 : Call me Coal._

" _I am speaking Babel."_

 _ **1st November 1981 – 1:00 am - Godrics Hollow**_

Albus Dumbledore was a great leader, a powerful warrior and the greatest thinker of his time. He had conquered mighty foes, subdued monsters, animal and human alike. Without arrogance he could say that he was as close to being omnipotent as a single human could be.

Yet, there he stood, before the ruins of the cottage that once was the home of the Potters and he felt, for the first time in ages, tears rolling down his cheeks. James and Lily Potter laid slain by the Killing Curse in the still smoking ashes of their home. Their faces were covered in blood and dirt, their eyes so horribly empty. Their son, Harry Potter, was gone. Dumbledore guessed that he was pulverized by the same explosion that had ripped Voldemort apart. A blow so powerful that it destroys the shields of a Dark Lord would easily erase the body of a toddler from the face of the earth.

Not in his life did Dumbledore guess that 'mark him as his equal' would mean that the Dark Lord would just kill the other. He was so sure, so absolutely convinced that he would find their young savior in the ashes of the house. When the news of the attack reached him he immediately began to plan the life of the boy. He would form him into a warrior, not unlike himself. Loyal to his friends and the cause, eager to protect those around him without much regard for his own safety. A knight in shining armour, coming from the ancient family of Potter to protect the realm, the people and the peace.

But now, this hope was gone and he had to redirect his efforts towards the still living child. Neville Longbottom would have to take Harry's place. The Potters, the entire family, died as martyrs and would be remembered as such. He would see to that himself. Not only had they been his comrades, his most loyal soldiers, they had also been his friends and former students. He had seen them grow up and looking onto their dead bodies felt like seeing the lifeless bodies of his own children. No more of James' pranks, his horrible jokes and contagious laughter. No more of Lily's kind eyes, soothing words and wisdom. No chance of ever seeing their son grow up, of playing the role of teacher, mentor – grandfather for him.

"PETTIGREW!"

Dumbledore turned around to see Sirius Black in a way he had never seen him before. He knew a man with soft smile, sometimes mischief in his eyes and expression, when he was about to fight or protect.

The man with the black hair, aristocratic face and elegance looked like a raging vampire, like a werewolf about to turn. He was ready to kill, to seek vengeance.

"Calm yourself, Sirius!" Dumbledore ordered. "We will find the traitor and bring him to justice, but you must calm yourself."

"He must die, Dumbledore. I will find him and I will kill him with my own wand – my own hands if I must. The rat betrayed them! He betrayed his friends! Look at them!" He screamed and gestured towards the two bodies lying in the rubble. His voice crackled, was hoarse and told of his pain.

Dumbledore walked towards him and a quick flick with his wand raised anti-apparition wards around them. Sirius didn't notice the small wand-gesture. He didn't even notice Dumbledore walking towards him. All he saw were the two bodies of his friends, dead and all he felt was a world devouring rage, blinding him, suppressing his other emotions until the only thought in his mind was to kill Peter Pettigrew. He would suffer first, then he would scream in pain until Wormtail would beg for his death at his hands.

Sirius didn't understand Dumbledores words. He heard him speak, he heard his sentences but they didn't make sense. Calm? The word had no meaning, no context. All he understood was that the rat must die. He must die tonight. He turned and thought about Pettigrews house, somewhere in a muggle village.

All he did was spin around. Why couldn't he apparate?

"Sirius! You must not blindly rush into this. We will find him, I promise. But we must not loose our minds."

Sirius looked at the old wizard with a mixture of confusion and anger. "How can I? They were all I ever had! They're gone! How...? I just... ."

"We all loved them, Sirius. But they died tonight bringing down Voldemort. They are heroes and they have given us a chance. Think about it! Sirius! The way is free. We can change Britain. But we need you!"

Any other person and Sirius would've hexed them on the spot. But coming from Dumbledore, the unusual tone of desperation and sadness affected him. The old wizard was always so cheerful and wise, appearing a little detached from, and above the puny problems of mere mortals. Sirius had never seen him so pained, so broken before. Tears ran down the old wizards cheeks and vanished into his long white beard. And yet, he asked him to calm himself, to think, to be rational. Sirius couldn't do it. Not now, not in a few days, not in weeks. But the old wizard was right. Now was the time to clean up and make this nation a place where James and Lily would've loved to live. He would make them proud.

However, for now, he sat down on the cold concrete and cried. The people of his life, his family, was gone. He would cry until his eyes hurt, until his glances dried out and his lungs burned from his screams of agony.

_BG_

 _ **Earlier**_

Copper had never thought that being friends with Peter Pettigrew would make him a lot of profit. He was well aware that the little pushover was a pretty worthless allie. But Pettigrew was comfortable to talk to, a quiet drinker with a loose wallet and well connected in the world of underground groups, thieves and headhunters. He knew the Order as well as the Death Eaters and Copper used this connection to provide smuggled goods to both parties. Making a deal with Pettigrew was as easy as selling a child sweets. He accepted slightly overpriced goods, he never asked for refunds or additional services. All he wanted was a clean and quick deal. Copper liked that.

When Pettigrew asked him to come along and promised the chance to get his thieving hands into the Potter Cottage in Godrics Hollow, he didn't say no, of course. The Potters were well known for two things, their riches and their modesty. He had hoped to find jewellery, expensive books and artefacts, fast brooms and, of course, lots of galleons.

Instead he found himself inside a raiding party of the Death Eaters without the chance to get his ass out of there. Pettigrew had told his master, the creepy looking Voldemort that sent shivers down Coppers spine, that he was a master wardbreaker.

Normally, Copper would've been eager to do this, no matter for whom. But the Dark Lords 'payment' was Coppers life and if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure if that was enough. Copper was well aware that the world would be a better place without him on it. But survival instinct kicked in and he did it anyway, hoping that he wouldn't find himself on the receiving end of a Cruciatus.

Pettigrew was the secret keeper for the Potters and it disgusted Copper that he gave the ward-key to the Death eaters with a grin and longing eyes towards his master. Being the secret keeper was almost synonymous with being a best friend, a loyal comrade, a trusted allie. In Coppers mind, Pettigrew was now scum. Worth just about as much love as the rodent he could turn into. There weren't much rules in the underworld, but betraying those who came to trust you with a secret of such magnitude, was one of the golden ones you just didn't break. Period.

The remaining wards were easy enough to break since having a Fidelius around your house basically removed your house from the world. One cannot access what isn't in one's reality. It would be the perfect defence, if it wasn't for traitorous vermin as your secret keeper.

Copper stayed out of the house, and let the Dark Lord do his own work. Screams and shouts came out of the house. The light of curses illuminated the night for split-seconds. One sickly green light and the mighty shouts of the male Potter were gone. Some time after that, another green light. The lacking of female screams filled the air with dreadful silence. One last green light.

 **BOOM**

Godrics Hollow shone brightly green as vast amounts of energy exploded from the cottage and threw the Death Eaters, Pettigrew and Copper a few meters back where they landed on their butts or backs. When Copper looked up to the house he saw a giant hole in the middle of the cottage. Voldemort was gone. The explosion had evaporated his body.

Copper always knew that wizards were, essentially, cowards. More so, wizard rebels and fanatics. The Death Eaters saw the demise of their master and ran for it. Whatever had destroyed their master couldn't be healthy for them either. Copper was about to run too when the thought of profit overruled his natural instincts. Half of the Cottage was still standing. What if there was plunder to make?

By the time he decided, the entirety of Voldemorts entourage was gone. He slowly moved towards the Cottage, listening if he could maybe hear whoever defeated the Dark Lord. No sounds, other than the cracking of burning wood and the drops of water from destroyed pipes could be heard.

He entered the cottage and found himself in what appeared to be the living room. Systematically he searched the drawers and typical spots for hidden items. Nothing. He went on into the library and found a few galleons in a leather wallet in the drawer of an oaken desk. Enough to buy drinks until he'd forget the night, at least. In the rest of the rooms was more worthless rubble, some sickles but all in all it reminded him of his childhood in the streets of Babylon. Small money for big effort.

Copper was about to leave the house when he heard a child crying. He stopped in his tracks and listened closely. The cries came from upstairs. All his sense told him to just run for it and search for the next pub, but once again, his instincts surrendered to his profit oriented character. He climbed the stairs slowly and followed the screams of the child until he reached the room that had been blown apart earlier. In the middle of it, in a destroyed crib, stood a dark haired, green eyed toddler. A scar in the form of lightning stood prominent on the boys forehead and dried blood that had run from there covered his right face. Other than that, the looks of the boy made Copper rethink his strategy to drink himself into oblivion tonight. After all, he just made big profit.

_BG_

 _ **1st November – 4pm – Babylon Byzantinian Streets**_

" _Copper, my old friend, what am I to do with a boy?_ " asked the old goblin in front of the thieve. His clothes were of finest silk from chinese silkworms. His rings made from the dwarves and his own brethren shone in the cold blue of mithril and the dazzling yellow-brown of galleon gold. He was the owner of the biggest brothel of Babylon and the undisputed king of the Red District. Oklok the Rich was a menacing person, but to Coppers delight, relatively easy to read.

" _Don't tell me you have a lack of customers that swing the other way._ " Copper reputed confidently. He had seen it in the goblins eyes, he wanted the boy. This right now was just to get the price low. " _Also, I doubt your servants have lost the ability to change the sex of young humans._ "

" _He has a scar on his head. My customer want cuteness, not war veterans._ "

" _Then use make-up. Tell you what. The scar gets you 50 Galleons off._ " Copper reached out with his hand and the Goblin grabbed it tight. Now business began.

" _200 Galleons off."_

" _60, you thieve."_

" _Says the thieve. 170!"_

" _90! I want to make profit here, I'm no charity."_

" _And I'm no kindergartener. 150!"_

" _I'm going to 120, but thats the last call."_

" _140 and you get a free round with my latest merpeople girl."_

" _Deal!"_

" _Deal!"_

With a nearly violent shake of their hands they settled the the unwritten contract and a servant of Oklok counted down several small sacks of galleons. Copper rubbed his hands as he watched more and more coins going into a single big satchel. The day had been productive, profitable and he already looked forward to satisfy his more exotic tastes in female company. Good deals, good times as he always said.

After the servant counted 1834 Galleons into the satchel, he handed it to the thieve who eagerly grabbed it and stood up. He bowed slightly to the goblin who smiled at the thieve the most disgusting smile he was able to produce. Oklok hated thieves, and even though they fueled his business, he hated slavers and haulers even more. " _Your girl will be ready soon enough. A servant will guide you to the pool once she had time to prepare_."

With that promise in his ears, Copper left the business room. The heavy cypress door shut close and Oklok turned around to his servant, a young satyr slave that had proven to be remarkably good with money and business. He had even granted him the right to a name, Orian.

" _Orian. Make sure that this thieve gets his part of the contract and remove him from my establishment after that. I cannot have my clients see the likes of him hanging around later tonight. Also, do not give him the new girl. One of the more recent girls will suffice. He doesn't know anyway_."

"As you wish, master." came the faithful voice of Orian. "Is there anything else?"

" _Yes. See to it that the boy there gets turned into a girl and then give him... errr... her then, to Mama Xen. I have no desire to see another toddler getting destroyed in one night. Bad business, that. She will be offered to our clients when she's tall enough. I'll leave the newborn prostitution to the lower tier brothels. Its a disgusting practice anyway._ "

" _A wise decision, master. I shall see to it._ "

_BG_

Mama Xen was never one to doubt her master Oklok. He had proven time and time again that he was capable of running this big business of his and his decisions had only helped to further its value and reputation. Back in her days, when she had been one of the serving girls, Oklok was new in the district. He had money but no connections, ideas but no partners to realize them with. It had taken him not even three months to take over. A master manipulator, businessman and gangster. If he'd been born a human, she'd had even tried to become his wife. He was, however, a goblin and quite proud of it, so she was content with managing his investments, or to be more precise, the children he wanted in his service as soon as they were old enough.

She was a stern woman with grey hair and brown skin, her eyes a golden brown that shone with a mixture of kind and hard, depending on her mood. Her wrinkles made her too old looking to work, but anywhere else she'd be considered a beauty. Age meant well with her.

She looked sceptical at the baby girl in Orian's hands. The young satyr and especially the toddler in his arms reeked of the chemicals and substances the alchemists used to alter the body of newborn children and toddlers. Judging from the amount of black liquids streaming through the veins of the child, she had probably been a he just a few hours ago. One more nobody girl to fill the ranks of the Red District. She didn't quite understand why Oklok would turn her. There weren't many male seducers and those who did exist were expensive. They were the luxury items in the inventory of every brothel. 'Artificial shortage' she reasoned and took the child from the hands of the satyr.

It was a cute girl. Her black hair, short as they were reminded Xen of the elegant geishas in the east asian districts. Her eyes were of a stunning green, like grinded emeralds from the dwarven mines. The moment the black potions in her bodies would wear off, she'd be an angel of a child. Oklok had, after all, a hand for good business.

The potion had made the girl tired and she slept tight in the sparse linen covering her body. Mama Xen took her into the living quarters of the brothel. She passed the small ponds in the first level that led to the merpeople quarters deep under the surface, took the first flight of stairs and climbed them until she reached the children's quarters right next to the bedroom of the houseelves. Its was a simple room under the roof of the house. The kids of the brothel had their beds there, some toys but mostly they had each other. They didn't have names, not officially. It had taken Mama Xen a few years until she found out how they named each other. New ones were named after their hair color and then they'd get names describing their first customer.

As she laid the child into an empty crib, the other kids rushed towards her and gazed at the newcomer in curiosity. The oldest among them, a girl named Anvil, 8 year old and with brown hair took the lead and analysed the child briefly before she declared "Coal." The children around her nodded in agreement and then proceeded to greet Coal.

Mama Xen knew that she wasn't needed anymore. The children would take care of her from now on, for most of the time. As long as she provided food and some direction, the kids raised themselves. She wanted to leave the room under the roof when she was interrupted by a old looking houseelve who's name she had forgotten.

"Miss Xen. There is a new elve born. You must look. Binki believe she is different." said the grey skinned elf while bowing deep before Xen.

"Different?" she asked.

"Yes. Nose, face, mouth, eyes all different." the houseelve answered unhelpful and gestured towards the elves quarters. Xen turned around and walked into the bedroom for the houselves. They slept in drawers, cupboards and on the floor on cardboard and pieces of linen. Xen always thought that it was fitting for them to be stored like objects. They were treated like property anyway.

Binki beckoned her to a corner at the far end of the room where the elves took their females to give birth. It was covered with a few tiles leftover from the construction of the building. Easy to clean. On the white tiles laid a younger elve with a small bundle of linen in her hands. Xen was surprised to see the young elve looking even more miserable than they did naturally. Her eyes, usually so quick to focus onto the masters were fixated on the elve baby in her arms. It took a while before she realized the stern look of Xen on her. With a helpless expression she removed parts of the linen to expose the face of the newborn.

Xen startled at the sight. The normally so crooked and ugly nose of the elves was gone. In its place was a petite, almost human nose. The eyes were smaller and in exchange her ears bigger. The mouth, wide and often misformed with other houseleves was straight, with thin lips. The biggest difference, however, were the few white hair on its head. The baby was... not unpleasant to look at. If Xen was honest with herself she had seen uglier human babies before. But given that it was an elve, she was crept out.

"What is this? Why is the baby so... so..." Xen couldn't find words to describe what she saw. She just gestured wildly at the face of the baby until she realized that the houseelves were as clueless as she was.

"We don't know, mistress. Baby is... not elve." the old houseleve said quietly. "Mistress take it away."

Xen's mind was racing. If it would've been her own elve, she'd have killed it by now with a Reducto in the backyard. It crept her out, it made her shiver. But it wasn't her houseelve, it belonged to Oklok and he was not one to joke about killing intelligent creatures, let alone his property. So what to do with this creepily cute abomination?

Xen decided to not decide. The kids would do with it whatever they liked. Keep it as their pet or drop it from the window, she wouldn't be responsible. So she took the small creature and held it far from her. A few quick steps and she was back in the childrens room where she opened one of the drawers and placed the elve into it.

She was about to walk away when the sight of Anvil coming to the drawer made her stop. The girl looked at the elve with the same serious curiosity she had shown when looking at Coal. It took her a while this time. Anvil's gaze became harder as her forehead wrinkled in concentration. Then she walked back to one of the beds, picked up a ragged book and moved a few pages until she seemed to find what she was looking for. She tossed the book onto her bed and walked back to the drawer where she said with some sort of pride "Snow.".

_BG_

 _Chapter 2: Making a name._

" _I am speaking Babel."_

 _ **26th August 1987 – Babylon**_

Coal loved the streets of Babylon like she loved the smell of caramel and the feel of silk. In her head those things were one. The streets smelled like caramel coming from the many open kitchens, the sand in the small alleys felt like silk between her toes, and the street made the silk of the seducers softer, the caramel they served the customers tastier. Babylon was wonderful.

The five districts around the Ziggurat, the emerald, ruby, sapphire, gold and silver district, were an adventure every time she walked through them, looking for exciting things to see and standing guard for the other kids who were watching for loot and plunder. Wealthy people, powerful people, interesting people roamed the streets and all ignored the small black haired whirlwind and the even smaller white haired ball of quick paws on her shoulders.

Snow shared her love for the districts with her best friend, Coal. She couldn't walk there, or she'd be trampled over. She was content with sitting on her friends shoulders, looking out for guards or soldiers who would snatch the other kids. For the people walking by them it may look a bit odd. A houseelve, an abnormal looking one at that, with huge bat-like ears, white short-cut hair, sitting on the shoulder of a european girl with black marks, looking like veins and a big red scar in the form of lighting on her face.

Coal had her hair tightly bound behind her head. She refused to cut it since it was the main thing that made her look somewhat pretty. It was long and floated around her shoulders and back in black waves. Beautiful to look at, impractical for the streets of Babylon. Especially today when they would make their first grab.

It didn't matter what they'd steal. It could be anything as long as it belonged to someone else. But more important than that was that it would determine what adult name Coal and Snow would get. It wouldn't do to be called 'Air', like the clumsy elder boy who was caught his first time. Coal and Snow would also like to avoid being called 'Apple' or 'Stone' or whatever safe grabs there were. Its showed so much weakness to the others and especially the two of them could do without any more ridicule.

Its had become clear to Snow, rather quickly, that she was fundamentally different from the other kids. Her kind was supposed to be slaves, depraved of individual needs beside to serve their masters, and just like that Snow was treated by some of the kids. Snow never felt that she wanted to serve, quite the contrary. If anyone would ask her she'd tell them that she wanted to travel the world. Coal had been the only one to ask and found the idea so amazing that she made it her own dream as well. Since then they were together, the houseelve and the blackblood.

Coal hated the name 'blackblood' with a passion. Mama Xen had told her once that she had been a boy until she was about one year old. Then their owner, Oklok, had decided that she needed to be a girl. Why that was, Coal never found out. But the potion that was supposed to turn her, left her blood black like oil. It made her veins stand out, the white of her eyes take on a weird shade of grey and her gums look like they were rotten. She looked like some of the Undead that roamed the streets of the Helheim District and was a financial desaster for Oklok, or at least that was what Mama Xen had told her. Oklok has yet to throw her out. Coal was such a fitting name for her and therefore she hated it almost as much as blackblood. But today she would show all of them. She'd come home to the room under the roof and be called Sapphire, or Mithril, she was sure of it.

"You see someone interesting, Snow?"

"Nu-uh. Some jewellery, but all on their necks. I don't think we can do that." Snow answered quietly even though the sound of the street silenced their voices for anybody who wasn't leaning down to them.

"I don't think so either. Do you suppose you could finger some of those daggers from the dwarf?"

"No, could you?"

"Definitely not." Coal said quickly. She was much worse at stealing than Snow was. The young houseelve had trained a lot, while Coal preferred to daydream about things like living in the palaces along the Silk Road. Also, her elven magic didn't make things more difficult for her. It was almost unfair, thought Coal.

"We could just walk around a bit and see if there's an opportunity."

"Sounds like a plan, Coal." the houseelve whispered in her ear. She was nervous, Coal could feel it. Her heart, beating rapidly by default, accelerated even more and felt odd against Coals back. Her voice became silent and faint as if she needed to keep a secret. But what Coal was very worried about was the accidents Snow had when she was nervous, or afraid. She'd apparate into either the room under the roof or to her side. The second one wouldn't be so bad, but if she'd apparate home she'd be called Air. Given her default low place in the children's hierarchy, that could mean for her to be kicked out. The oldest girl and therefore their leader, going by the name of Judge, after her first client, was a mean person who didn't like both of them. They'd show her today.

"Don't be nervous. I'm with you. We can do this!" whispered Coal encouraging to Snow. What the houseleve had in her quick hands and magic, Coal had in her heart. She was small, petite really. Her head was often in the clouds and she was, in general, a kind and caring person but she was also stubborn, proud and stout-hearted when it counted. She looked out for herself and even more so for Snow. They had even begun to sleep cuddled together to at least pretend that the other could safe them from whatever threat they had to face, even though, the only one with a reasonable chance of beating anyone was Coal.

They began to stroll through the busy streets of the emerald district, where officials from the ruby district and artists from the sapphire district came together to buy at the big market. Most of them were humans, some were centaurs, goblins, dwarves and satyrs and from time to time one could see a harpy, lamia or dryad find her way into the city. Babylon was famous for its variety of magical species that lived together in what could best be described as cease-fire. Coal and Snow kept their eyes out for the women that the older kids called 'trophy-wives'. Coal figured that name came from the disgusting amounts of gold on them, but wasn't really sure. They were often easy game since they often enough didn't even recognize that something was gone. But there was no such luck today, it seemed. All the two of them saw were busy people with concealed wallets.

They simultaneously looked up to the sky and saw to their horror that the sun was already becoming orange at the horizon. They had to be back by night, before the customers came, or face a night on the streets and even worse, they'd be called 'Air' the next morning.

"We need to find something, quickly!" Coal hissed.

"There! The guy talking to the centaur!" Snow answered excitedly. She pointed at a middle-aged man, with common robes and a small wallet hanging from his hips standing beside a street shop, talking to a centaur with brown fur and muscular upper body. He looked tired, Coal thought but then shook her head and focused again. She had to do this.

With purpose she slithered through the many legs and bodies filling the street and walked in a small curve towards the man.

He was intimidating up close, and the centaur seemed so gigantic. Coal froze at the sight of them and had to be pinched by Snow to get out of her stupor. She shook her head again and walked quickly to the man so that she would pass him closely. When she reached the side of the street Snow jumped from her shoulders and climbed a wooden pole to reach the top of the pavilion that protected the street shop from the sun. She ran into position just above the two men and waited until Coal was less than a meter away from the wallet. She jumped onto the table, and landed on her butt in an controlled way, making as much noise as possible.

The men jumped in surprise and looked gobsmacked at the tiny houseelve. " _Oh boy, I'm sorry._ " Snow said sweetly.

Coal took the chance and grabbed the wallet, her quick fingers making easy work of the latches. One open, two open and the wallet was hers.

" _Hey!"_ the man shouted and turned around quickly. Coal barely avoided being smacked by his backhand and made a run for it.

" _Damnit! Thieves! Catch them!"_ she heard the centaur roar while the man shouted at the guards on the other side of the street.

" _Snow, wheres Snow?"_ Coal asked herself while running zig-zag through the people on the street as fast as her legs could carry her. A pop behind her ear and suddenly a weight hung on her shoulder.

" _I got a golden one. RUN!"_ Snow screamed into her ear in a high pitched voice. _"They follow us!"_

Coal immediately regretted looking over her shoulders. The gigantic centaur charged at them, throwing people out of his path left and right. He had his spear in his right hand and held it up, ready to throw it.

She made a jump into a backalley, dived over crates and went deeper into the district. Left. A broader sidestreet with fewer people. She heard the centaur roar behind her and the crates they just jumped over got flinged onto the street behind them.

" _He's faster than you! The roofs!"_ Snow yelled.

Coal immediately jumped into the next sidestreet to her right, grabbed the downpipe and climbed up the house. She just rolled onto the roof when the spear of the centaur cut clean through the pipe under them.

" _I'll get you, you damned thieve!"_ came from under the house, followed by frustrated, angry growls.

Coal ran as fast as she can, jumped over the small distances between the houses and climbed the many walls and fences on the flat roofs. She ran until her feet were sore, nearly two districts. Then, finally, she sat down, oriented herself and let out a long and exhausted sigh.

" _This was the worst. The others are so much smoother than us."_ Coal said hoarsely. Her lungs burned and her small feet were sore from the gravel some people had on their houses.

" _But we got it! We've done it. Look!"_ Snow said with a wide grin on her face. She held a golden coin high up in a victorious pose. The motive on it told Coal that it was a Gringotts Galleon, a european coin. She had seen them before in the brothel and was stunned by what you could buy with just one of those.

" _They'll name you Galleon. Thats awesome!"_ Coal said cheerfully. Her throat was still dry, but the look on her best friends face paid for most of her exhaustion. She looked down to her own hands and saw the wallet still tightly in her grip.

" _Open it. You don't want to be called 'wallet'."_ Snow hopped around her impatiently.

With careful hands she opened the wallet and stuck her hand into it. With a feeling of dread she felt that there were no coins in her. Just something that felt like a sharp edged rock. _"Oh no..."_ she said and removed her hand from the wallet, producing whatever it was the man had in the wallet.

" _What is that?"_ Snow asked.

" _I don't know. The color is like... dirt, but its more like a metal."_

" _Uh... maybe its some rare metal. Those always make good names."_

" _Maybe some of the others know what it is? We should go, the suns about to go down."_ Coal said, dismissively. She was rather disappointed. No matter what material it was, it wouldn't be as amazing as gold, let alone a Galleon.

They made their way home in a hurry and just barely made it before the front doors opened. They hurried past the seductresses that were preparing for the night and entered the room under the roof just in time to see the elder children prepare themselves as well.

When they entered, all eyes were on them. Quickly the kids gathered round and asked what they got. Unlike the others who had made their first grab, Snow and Coal weren't welcomed with cheers. The atmosphere was more like malevolent expectations. The children hoped that the two outsiders would have some mundane trash with them, or even better, nothing. The mischievous smile on Snows face was priceless for Coal to witness.

Before the kids got too impatient, their leader, Judge stepped forward and asked for the goods they stole. Snow showed her the Galleon with a victorious grin plastered on her face, while Coal presented the brown metal, not sure what to think of it.

Judge looked at the Galleon like she'd just seen a banshee. Her eyes got wide and her face laid in a confused and angry expression. _"Shut it!"_ she commanded the other kids who started to whisper between them. Some of them looked surprised, some were even admiring the loot of the two. However, most of them looked ready to kick them out of the room. An emotion that Judge shared with them. The girl thought long about what to do. She repeatedly looked between Snow and Coal and then smiled so evily that it sent a shiver over the pairs spines.

" _We name after thefts, not stuff you got from begging. Air and Air."_

" _What? Thats unfair!"_ Snow yelled at her. _"Prove that we..."_ But she couldn't finish the sentence. The backhand of Judge sent her flying through the room.

" _You keep your mouth close, Air! I'm in charge here."_ Judge shouted, more to the audience than to Snow who laid on the floor, whimpering. Coal ran towards her and was about to pick her up when Judge grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around violently. _"You're a blackblood, but you're not a slave-caste like she is. If you pick her up now, its out of the room for both of you. If you keep your hands off of her, you're allowed to stay."_

Judge smiled her trademark smile. A bit of teeth, slightly raised corners of the mouth, disgusting intent written all over her face. Coal had always found it repulsive, but now it made her want to vomit right at the older girl. With a faint move of her shoulder she removed Judges hand from her, turned around and picked up the still whining Snow.

" _I'd rather get eaten by the vampires than to spend even one more night with you. Goodbye."_ she said dryly and left the room with her head held up high. She had the little elve firmly in her grip. Snow herself held the Galleon as if her very life depended on it. Her left cheek sported a dark grey spot where the hand had hit her and her left eye began to swell shut. She still whined silently in Coals arms. They both had learned to cry in silence, even before they had learned to walk.

Coal walked down the stairs on her toes and had a look out for customers, or worse, her owners Oklok and Mama Xen. The wooden stairs creaked when she walked over them, but she was sure that nobody heard her as the moaning, cheering and screaming from the rooms was easily overwriting the sound from the wood. When she walked past the merpeople girls she smiled at them and just shook her head when one wanted to help Snow. Coal couldn't allow Xen or Oklok to find them here. Snow was fragile, even if she would never admit it. Another blow to her head and she'd be out for days or even completely, should Okloks many rings hit a wrong spot.

Outside of the brothel, she quickly made her way to the backyard where no customers ever came to and just sometimes there would be girls who took a smoke or hid themselves from a more brutal client. There was a wooden bench. It was nearly broken but it was still stable enough for a seven year old girl, holding a six year old houseelve.

" _I hope its not a cold night, tonight."_ Coal whispered while she looked at the countless stars above them. Every single one was a wish, made by someone who desperately needed it. At least that was what one of the merpeople girls once told her when she had learned their language. She was sure that there were two new ones, somewhere, shining up right at this moment.

" _I..."_ Snow began weakly. She sobbed and sniffed and ran the back of her hand under her nose. _"I don't care what they say. They're stupid! My names Galleon now! And thats that!"_ The courage of her words got lost in her silent and sad voice. She held the coin against her chest and curled up into Coals embrace, her ears covering her face.

" _Alright, Galleon. Any ideas where we can get food?"_ Coal asked her. No answer came from the little elve. Coal didn't really expect one. She was used to her best friends silence whenever the elve was upset. _"The trashcans it is, then."_

Coal didn't have to wait long. The richer customers held orgies in the finer rooms of the brothel where the fat men and women would eat and fuck at their hearts desire. Coal knew these rooms from one time, when she got sent there to serve a client that preferred young girls. She got sent back without ever being touched. Nobody wanted to touch a blackblood, after all. But she saw enough to know that there were disgusting amounts of leftovers that got thrown out to the backyard trashcans.

The door to the kitchens opened and a human servant stepped out, holding a cauldron full of unfinished meals. He stopped when he saw the blackblood girl and the creepy elve child sitting on the broken bench. The black-haired girl that reminded him so horribly of fresh undead people looked at him with begging eyes. Her eyes were always so piercing and intimidating, he hated to look at them. The dark grey instead of the white and the emerald green that shone like gems from the darkness – terrifying and beautiful. He knew what they wanted, and so he grabbed an empty jar and filled it to the top with the rests of meat, potatoes, rice and vegetables that was in the cauldron. Then he placed the jar next to them on the bench. The blackblood thanked him and gave him goosebumps by staring in his eyes for a second. He quickly dispersed of the rest of the leftovers and fled into the kitchen.

Coal was used to the fear some of the servants and girls felt when they looked at her. She knew how she looked since there were mirrors everywhere in the brothel that denied her the right to forget for even a minute. As much as she would love to be able to deny it, she really did look like an Undead. She shrugged and took a small piece of meat from the jar. It was heavily spiced and tasted like anything but meat. It was delicious, though. Even mixed with the other meals it tasted fantastic to her. The next piece – a much smaller one – she moved to Snows, no, Galleons lips and waited until the elve opened her mouth reluctantly. The next bite was again for herself, then she fed Galleon again, then herself and so on until the jar was empty at last.

Coal looked up at the sky again and admired the bright moon, shining at them with his blueish, beautiful light. She had always liked it better than sunlight. The suns rays burned the eyes. The moons soft illumination made everything appear more beautiful, more mystical, more interesting.

Galleons silent and deep breathing held Coal back from loosing herself and her thoughts in the image of the moon. The little elve had fallen asleep in her arms and she had to admit that she was equally tired. The day had been exhausting from the morning to the evening. Her eyelids felt heavy and she caught herself closing them for long periods of time before startling. She mustn't forget that there actually was a chance to be eaten by a vampire out here. But no matter how hard she tried, in the end she succumbed to sleep.

_BG_

" _Here, wakey wakey."_

The voice was so far away from her, Coal was sure it was just in her dreams.

" _Now, I know it must've been exhausting to steal my stuff..."_

Her eyes shot open, her head raced around and came to a halt when she saw the tired looking man in the simple robes, looking at her with a grin on his face.

" _...but you need to wake up. Good."_ he finished amused. Then he leaned down to her and said silently _"I don't appreciate being stolen from, young girl, that's just not sitting right with me."_

" _I..I...we..."_ she stuttered lamely, but her mind was numb from fear. So close, the man stopped looking tired and had something menacing on him. His eyes were a deep brown and his hair was blonde like that of the northern europeans that sometimes came to the brothel. He produced a knife from his belt and Coal sucked in a breath, her arms held Galleon so tight to her body that the elve woke up.

" _What is..."_ Galleon began, but the view of the man shut her up immediately. She became even smaller and vanished behind Coals arms.

The man laughed at the elve and the sound of it made their blood freeze. There was absolutely no humour in it. When he calmed down to chuckles he began to pick his fingernails with his knife and stared with an evil grin at the two of them.

Coal was about to ask what he'd do with them when the backdoor shot open and to her horror, she saw Oklok storm out of it. His head was flushed with blood and his expression angrier than Coal had ever seen it. _"WHAT DID YOU DO, BLACKBLOOD?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO GET THE TRIPLE DAMNED VARANGIANS SCREWING UP MY BUSINESS? HUH!?"_

" _Hey now, triple damned 's a bit much."_ the man with the knife said to the goblin in an amused voice.

" _QUADRUPLE DAMNED. YOU AND YOUR BAND OF SELLWANDS SCARE MY GUESTS!"_

" _Your property stole my property. I demand retribution."_

" _RETRIBU..."_ Oklok began to shout, but then stopped himself from it as it seemed that he realized who was holding the elbow long knife in his hands. _"Retribution, you say. What did the girl steal from you?"_

" _The elve stole a galleon, the girl a wallet and a piece of dwarven bronze."_

Oklok looked ready to tear limbs from bodies and spoke while grinding his teeth. _"You trash my establishment for a galleon and a piece of metal? Are you out of your mind? Do you even know who I am, mercenary?"_

" _Aye..."_ the man began and gave the goblin a mock bow. _"You're Oklok, the owner of this whorehouse and the district in general. May I introduce myself, so that we may be on common ground? I am Colonel Dagger. You may call me Colonel."_

" _Well then, Colonel."_ Oklok made sure to put as much venom into the title as possible. _"What do I have to do to get you out of my house and district?"_

" _No threat of calling your muscle? Now thats unusual for a gangster boss."_ Colonel Dagger laughed.

" _Don't mock me, human. I am well aware of the Varangian Guards abilities. As strong as my men are, they couldn't hold a candle to you even if you blindfolded yourselves. So what do you want?"_

" _Them."_ he said and pointed at Coal and Galleon. Both of them nearly jumped as the man looked at them with the same evil grin he had worn since they first saw him.

" _They're worth a bit more than a galleon and a piece of bronze, dwarven or not."_ Oklok said angrily. He hated to be driven into a corner and he knew that he would have to oblige to the Colonel's wishes if he wanted his house still standing in the morning. But still, there was no harm in bargaining.

" _I pay for the repairs and for whatever... uhm... services my men have already received."_ Colonel Dagger offered with a wave of his hand.

" _You're paying now or do you want me to make the repairs using your words?"_

The Colonel didn't even comment and just threw a sack full of coins into the goblins hands that he produced from under his robes.

" _Alright then. Take those two."_ Oklok said and then turned around to face Coal and Galleon. _"And if I ever see you in this district again I'll cut both of your throats, you understand me, brats?"_

Coal jumped up and moved back from the enraged goblin. She just nodded and let her head hang down to show as little disobedience as possible. She stood like so until the angrily mumbling goblin went back into the house, probably to shout at some girls and throw a tantrum in his office.

" _So... first things first. I'll need my things back."_ Colonel Dagger said softly. Coal looked up to the man and, to her surprise, found nothing but a faint, gentle smile on his face. His brown eyes weren't as piercing as before, but shone bright with kindness.

Coal handed him the piece of bronze. Then he moved his hand to collect the galleon from Galleons paws. He stored both of these things in a wallet that hung from his hips and patted it when he closed the lid. _"Now that thats done, tell me your names please."_

" _I'm Galleon."_ said the little elve in a short moment of courage before she once again tried to hide in her friends arms.

" _So, this was your first theft then? Quite a feat to steal from Varangians at the first try. Sagantes was furious when you fled over the roofs. Nice move, that."_ he said cheerfully. His eyes grew even kinder and both Coal and Galleon had no idea how to react to that. Coal wanted to smile back, but she knew from experience that the ones who smiled were those who were often the most dangerous. _"You're Bronze, then?"_ he asked and nodded towards Coal.

" _No I..."_ she started. Her mouth hung open for a second when she realized that, actually, this was her name. _"Yes... Yes, my name is Bronze."_ she answered and nearly laughed while doing so. All the commotion had made her forget completely about her change of names. She carried no longer the stupid, and so painfully descriptive name Coal. She was now Bronze and things were about to change. For better or worse, she wasn't sure.

" _Nice meeting you, Bronze, Galleon. I'm Colonel Dagger and I welcome you to the Varangian Guard."_

_BG_

 _Chapter 7(?): A new contract._

"I'm speaking English."

" _I am speaking Babel."_

" **I'm speaking another language. Look for context."**

 _ **10th July 1995 – Krak des Chevaliers – Israel**_

It was one of the hottest days they had ever experienced in the desert of Israel and yet, Galleon and Bronze stood guard in the middle of the yard, protecting a sack of stones from nobody. There were no shadows in a radius of ten meters and not one cloud anywhere in the sky. Just the burning star right above them that was supposed to melt their cheek.

"You just had to say it." hissed Galleon with as much venom as she could muster through her already hurting sunburn.

"Oh, shut up you broken houselve."

"You shut up, oilleak."

"That's a new one."

"Just came up with it."

They both snorted in amusement but quickly remembered that they were supposed to be angry at each other, as bad as they were at being that.

"How long do you think he'll let us stand here?" Bronze whispered the question. Other than the houseelve, her pale skin was already way past the point of hurting and her uniform soaked with her sweat. She was sure that she already had several first, maybe even some second degree burnings and she could feel her black blooded veins pulsing. The sun was indeed her natural enemy. She was in so many ways like an Undead, she cursed the damned goblin every day of her life for his decision to make her a girl and being too much of a scrooge to hire at least mediocre alchemists.

"Well, calling the Colonel a drunk fuckhead that merely exists to devour as much drugs as possible while fucking as much whores as Tel Aviv offers is probably worth standing here until sundown." Galleon chuckled and focused hard to stifle the laughter that got her standing in the sun with Bronze in the first place. "But maybe he sees the truth in your words and rewards your honesty by letting us off in the afternoon."

"Fat chance." Bronze laughed.

Suddenly she felt nauseous and the small moves of her chest from the laughter made her loose her balance. With a thud she landed face first in the sand beneath her and couldn't move.

"Bronze!" Galleon screamed and forgot all about her orders to stand and not move. She grabbed her sunburnt body and apparated with it to the infirmary, through every apparition ward there was. Houseelve magic was the best.

_BG_

"Have you learned your lesson, soldier?" Colonel Dagger asked with his most stern voice.

"Yes. I will never again tell the truth." Bronze said hoarsely. Her voice was crackling from the dryness of her throat and her headache was nearly killing her. Potions and salves did their work but one didn't heal dehydration and second degree sunburns in a few hours.

The soldier standing guard in the infirmary snorted but held his laughter together. Colonel Dagger tried hard to remain serious, but the twitching corners of his mouth gave his amusement away. "I'm supposed to raise you to be a valuable part of the Guard. Not a brat with too much cheek for her own good."

With a sigh he sat down onto the edge of her bed and ran his hand through his hair in a tired motion. He looked old and exhausted, Bronze thought and a voice in her head laughed that she would probably look just like that if she'd drink and fuck like an animal. But she was sure that this was different, so she stayed silent and waited for him to speak.

"I know I won't be able to change you two. But we just got order and I need you to be on your best behaviour. You were selected for a mission. The Commander wants you in his office in thirty."

"A... a mission? You're joking!" Galleon blurted out.

"What did I just...?" He started, but then just pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed again and resigned. "I don't know the details, but you were selected because, unfortunately, you're by far the best of those who fit the requirements."

"What do you mean by 'unfortunately'? You think we're not up for the challenge?" Bronze asked angrily. They were indeed the best among their peers. All the other recruits excelled in one or maybe two fields. Bronze and Galleon, or how they were called more often, the 'bronze Galleon' were among the best in every single field. From normal spellwork to using sniper rifles, they were good at it, through talent or hard work. So hearing this doubt hurt her pride quite a bit.

"No, what I mean was... uhm..." He leaned back against the wall and looked up to the ceiling as if he thought he'd find the words he was looking for there.

"What is it then?" Galleon demanded.

"Its just... you know that I really like you guys, don't you?"

"Is that why you let us get sun-dried?" Bronze asked with a mischievous grin.

"No, that was because you're a brat with no respect for you superiors and you..." he pointed at Galleon "...are just the same if not worse."

"So you're worried?" Galleon asked, ignoring the accusation as always.

"Yes, I'm worried. I'm very worried. I know you for eight years now and I'm kind of proud to see what happened to the little streetrats I took under my wing back then." he admitted not without pride in his voice which caused the two girls to smile one of their rare, honest smiles at him. They had each other, but it always felt good to have a spot in someone elses heart. "Of you go, now. Your burns will heal just as good while you walk to the Commander. And for all gods sake, behave yourselves!"

"Will do." they both said and nearly jumped from their beds. Their first mission in their head made them more excited then having their own room, their own weapons or anything else had made them. By the time they reached the Commanders office, they were already having the wildest fantasies as to what they'd be ordered to do. Would it be killing a mighty beast, assassinating some big shot or maybe snatching some intelligence? With a fast beating heart, Bronze knocked at the door of the office and waited until the Commander beckoned them in with his deep voice.

They entered and saluted the Commander as close to perfection as they could manage with their burnt skin and their general disregard for formalities.

"At ease. Sit down." the Commander ordered and gestured towards the two chairs in front of his oaken desk. Bronze sat onto the left one while Galleon took a seat on the right chairs armrest in order to be able to look over the desk. "I take it Colonel Dagger told you?"

"He told us that we were selected for a mission." Galleon stated matter-of-factly.

The Commander finished some paperwork with a quick signature and then leaned back in his impressive chair made of finest leather and woods. "Thats right. We got an interesting request from Britain. The Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore – you know the man from history class I take it?"

Both of them nodded.

"Yeah. He requested an entire platoon of highly trained battlemages for some guard job. It doesn't seem like the british ministry knows that and the client made clear that he would like it to remain that way. So we're hiding an entire platoon of soldiers within the civil society of magical Britain."

The Commander took a folder and threw it over the desk into Bronze's arms. She opened it and looked quickly over the photos and maps within. "The Order of the Phoenix, sir? Dark Lord... Voldemort?"

"Cheesy name, isn't it?" the Commander laughed. "He's an extremely dangerous terrorist with a fascist agenda. People believe he's dead, and so do most governments. Dumbledore seems to think he's back from the dead. That is why he hires us to add some meat to his band of rebels he calls the Order. Some of the platoon will train them to fight."

"What is our part in this?" Galleon said excited. Bronze saw that the little elve girl needed to grab the chair in order to remain sitting. The Commander also noticed the excitement of the elve and gave her a broad grin.

"Your part is the trickiest but could probably be the most comfortable at the same time. Normally I don't send out trainees to missions, since I want them to do what their rank indicates – train. But you're way ahead anyway and won't miss out on education." he finished mysteriously and left the girls waiting in anticipation. When he revelled enough in their barely hidden impatience he chuckled quietly and leaned forward.

"You'll enlist into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." he said and pointed at Bronze.

"What?" she blurted out.

"You heard me. You'll be a student at the prestigious british school for magic. Well, at least as cover, you'll be. Your task is to keep a lookout for suspicious behaviour within the student body and your eyes open to rumours. In the worst case of an attack, you'll be responsible for the organisation of the defences."

"So, that is what the Colonel meant by requirements. You need a fifteen year old?"

"Quite observant of you, soldier." he said cheerfully at the slightly disappointed face of Bronze. She wasn't sure how to feel about it. On the one side she'd get to see Britain, more exactly, Scotland from what she could gather from the maps. On the other side she'd be stuck in a castle with some civilian brats and worst of all, she would have to listen to their inconsequential rambling and gossip. She'd much rather go out and fight a dragon, or something. Hero stuff. Stuff that mattered.

"Okay, so Bronze is going to play teenage girl. What am I supposed to do?" Galleon asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.

"Well... I gotta apologize in advance for your task. The brits aren't exactly known for their loving way of dealing with houselves." he said a bit more silent than before. "You're going there in the cover of Bronze's servant."

Galleons mouth hung open while she stared blankly at the Commander. She got out of her stupor when she heard the insufferable, mischievous chuckle of Bronze next to her, finding the whole matter way too funny. "Oh, shut up." she hissed and Bronze just barely held back a loud laugh. "I'm so not doing your laundry."

"You don't have to." the Commander appeased the elve. He knew better than to tease her in this matter. "The elves of Hogwarts, who do have the curse, will take care of that and all the other household tasks. You will listen from the shadows and get some informations out of the elves. They probably know more of the british wizards corpses in the backyard than the brits give them credit for. Also you're responsible for getting out of trouble, should something happen. The wards of Hogwarts function much like ours and let houselves apparate within them."

Galleon nodded, somewhat satisfied with her task. It sounded like interesting work to squeeze out information from members of her own kind. They were so easy to manipulate, so she didn't think that she would even need Legilimency, but she looked forward to train it on them. In the end, she thought, she got the better part of the bargain.

Bronze looked through the files in the folder in the meantime. Layouts, recommended defensive positions and hotspots for the spread of information. The castle was huge, but there were only five spots where information got carried from one student to the other. The common rooms, as they were called and the dining hall, called the Great Hall. Then she dug deeper into the paper and found two vitas of a bushy haired girl with, what Bronze thought, was a pretty face and a red haired boy who looked like a brute to her.

"Who are those two?" she asked without looking up from the photos.

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They were the closest buddies the deceased Triwizard Champion Neville Longbottom had. They're considered high priority targets for their involvement with this 'Boy-who-lived'. That Dark Lord is quite vengeful, they say. Your secondary task is to look out for them and evacuate them if the need arises. Also, they will know about your true identity and your assignment. We already deployed groups of three to their homes as safeguards. You will join Group Alpha at the Granger residence where you'll get to know the girl first. See if you can use both of their knowledge of the school, but keep them out of trouble at all costs."

"Aye, sir. Two questions. First. Whats our alias? I think we might be a little suspicious if we call ourselves Bronze and Galleon."

"You'll be introduced as Lyralei Leermann. We figured a german name would fit your face. You were a student at Babylons Ziggurat but had to move because of family reasons. You'll see the details in the folder. Galleon there will be named Tipsy and shes a houseelve, end of story."

Galleons face sank as she heard the ridiculous name and Bronze's face flushed red as she tried to keep the laughter in. Her own alias was nice enough. Lyralei was a name she could work with, even though it lacked the personal note of a thieves name. She regained her composure under great effort and then proceeded to ask "Second. When are we leaving?"

"Departure is in two hours. You'll take a portkey to France and from there you'll be driven to the Grangers house by car." the commander answered.

Bronze and Galleon stood up and wanted to leave when the commander cleared his throat. They turned around and gazed into worried eyes.

"You two are soldiers of the Varangian Guard. Never forget that. But by all gods, you're still trainees. If you run into danger, get out. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." they said back with strong voices.

"Goodbye then, and be careful! Dismissed."

_BG_

Britain was a rainy, miserable and horribly grey place, Bronze thought as she looked out of the rear window of the luxurious car. The houses they passed were just as grey as the sky above them and the people had fitting expressions on their faces whenever they passed some on the streets. When she opened the window, she smelled the normally so wonderful scent of wet grass. Even that became a bland and uninteresting sensation in Britain. It was as if the country itself said 'Thats nothing special'. By the time they reached London, Bronze had decided that she liked Babylon and Israel better.

She had given up on looking out of the window and instead reread the briefing, looked again at the photos and maps and laid out a plan on how to deal with this Hermione Granger – alone.

Galleon was brought to the castle of Hogwarts the moment they reached France by portkey. Their comrades awaiting them had said that it was of utmost importance that Galleon got to know the houseelves as soon as possible and determine her standing within their ranks. All present were sure that a curseless elve would not sit right with the battalions of magically dumbed down elves in the kitchens of Hogwarts.

So Bronze was left alone with a task she grew more and more anxious about. It had dawned to her during the long drive that she had never before dealt with another human alone. She always had Galleon there to help her, guide the conversation or apparate them out of harms way. As sad as it was, but often enough Galleon was the brain of the operation. Even with years of military training, Bronze kept her head in the clouds way too often. She was rash and courageous and faced danger with a wicked smile on her face. But with it came her loose tongue and a talent for getting herself into trouble. She sighed and just hoped that the girl would be easy to be around.

The black SUV she sat in took a curve into a suburban area with houses of the upper middle-class of London. Some expensive cars, some neatly trimmed lawns and, unseen by the muggles around the brick-walled house with the black roofing, a small group of three people in black suits and black sunglasses, two men and a woman.

"Thats Sergeant Sergjov, Lieutenant O'Harra and Private Bergsson. They're easy going, but remember that you're under every one of them in rank, Private Bronze." said the driver before he turned into the driveway of the house. He opened the doors with a button on the wheel and gestured to her that the doors were open now.

While one of the men in black suits got her luggage from the trunk, her fieldkit and the necessary things for Hogwarts she had gotten handed to her the moment she appeared in the Normandy, Bronze took a long look at the place she'd stay in for a bit less than a month before she could see Galleon again in Hogwarts. The house was looking new and cared for, the lawn was neatly mown and a variety of flowers brought cautiously picked out colors into the green of the grass. The windows were framed with white wood just like the entry. It would've looked so peaceful and normal without the presence of the Varangian Guard at the frontyard.

"Private Bronze, I presume." said the middle-aged woman in the black suit. She had brown hair with single grey strands in it, a stern look with her blue eyes and a aura of tenacity and hardness around her that mirrored into her voice.

"Yes, ma'am." Bronze said and added a sloppy salute.

The woman frowned at the mediocre display of formality, but didn't say anything about it. "I am Sergeant Sergjov and I'm the leader of squad alpha. For the time you're here, you're under my command. Understood so far?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I take it you got the details from headquarters? Inside waits the family for us. We're about to introduce ourselves and especially you, since you'll be in charge of their daughters safety. So no messing around, rookie. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bronze answered and made sure to make it sound a bit mocking. Bronze decided that she didn't like Sergeant Sergjov all that much. She was still a comrade and sister of the Guard, but one can't choose family.

The Sergeant gestured towards the others to follow her. Meanwhile, the black SUV drove away to wherever the Guard had its safehouse in London. Bronze followed the three people in black suits and felt horribly out of place in her standard uniform with the witches hat and the wyrmhide boots and trousers.

The inside of the house was as neat and tidy as the outside. It had the tasteful minimalistic elegance that Bronze new from the photos in her books. It was metallic, white with the occasional wooden part in the furniture. Some boards held knick-knacks and trinkets, exactly placed and covered with a faint layer of dust that could only be seen if the light hit it in the right angle. The rooms were big, flooded with light and despite the furniture, had some sort of happy aura about them. It stood in stark contrast to the people sitting on the couch who looked with expectant eyes towards the Varangians that entered the living room.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I am Sergeant Sergjov of the fifth platoon, second brigade of the Varangian Guard, at your service. With me are Lieutenant O'Harra and Private Bergsson as well as Private Bronze. We are responsible for your safety, but we will see to it that your normal lifes can go on as undisturbed as possible. I assume you have many questions. May I?" she asked, but didn't wait for any of the Grangers to place her on a seat. The Sergeant sat down in a comfortable armchair and awaited the Grangers question with a fake smile on her face.

"Why is this even necessary?" asked and the recently shed tears were still audible in her voice.

"I am unsure how much you already know. Our briefing says that Lord Voldemort..." Bronze noticed the bushy haired girl, Hermione, twitch like she just got stung as the Sergeant spoke the name. "...has returned from death, or similar circumstances. We understand that Neville Longbottom... "Hermione sobbed heavily at that name. "...was a prime target of this terrorist and our client therefore assumes that your daughter, as a very good friend of Neville Longbottom, became a target as well. Thats why we're hired to protect you by evacuation and active defence."

"We already know that. But why hire private security? What about the government?" Mr Granger said in a voice, a mixture of anger and exhaustion. His black rings under the eyes surely spoke lengths of his condition.

"We understand that there is no evidence to support the claim that Voldemort has returned, even though the marks on body..." The sergeant stopped suddenly when Bronze walked in between her line of sight and grabbed Hermione by the hands. The bushy haired girl looked with blood-shot eyes into the emerald ones with dark-grey where white should be and just nodded after which she let herself be led out of the room by Bronze.

The hand Bronze was holding was weak and the girls grasp was barely recognizable. She looked like hell, with red eyes and cheeks from the tears she had shed and her hair was a complete mess, adding to her overall horrible appearance. However, Bronze was sure that she'd be rather pretty if the circumstances would be better. Thinking 'better safe than sorry' she reminded herself that she was on a mission and it wouldn't go over well to start something with the VIP she was supposed to protect. Damn those alchemists and their unfinished jobs.

"I figured you could do without hearing that again." Bronze said faintly while she led Hermione into the backyard, onto a wooden bench that faced a small pond with Koi carps swimming in it.

"Are you really a soldier?" she asked and her voice made clear that she gratefully took the chance to stay away from the subject of her dead friend. Hermione's eyes looked up and down Bronze's body, taking in the rather unusual look of the girl next to her.

"Not yet, if you wanna be technical about it. I'm a trainee, but they needed a fifteen year old for the mission, so they picked me and made me a Private for the duration. I'm Bronze by the way, but in school you gotta call me Lyralei."

"Bronze, like the metal?"

Bronze just nodded with a faint smile and then released the hand of the girl she realized she was still holding.

"You're looking pretty unusual, if I may say that." Hermione nearly whispered. "Where are you from? I understand the Varangian Guard is pretty international."

"Babylon."


	2. High Priest Potter

**High Priest Potter - The idea here was to get into spirituality. Religion isn't spoken of in HP canon, but I always imagined wizards having their own religion in general, with celebrations like Christmas being a relatively new thing in their culture. Anyway, my approach was to have Harry grow up in Atlantis where he grew into a Priest of Gaia, the Earthmother. The worldbuilding overwhelmed me, though, and I never felt motivated enough to put in that much effort.**

The night above him was filled with the light of a million stars, the moon shone bright and full and it clad the world around him in a beautiful silver light. The Earth under his feet trembled with the sound of hundreds of people dancing on it, with him in the middle.

Feet stomped down and the impacts vibrated across the field. He could feel them all. He could sense them crushing down onto the soil with the same ecstasy the dancer felt. He could feel their restless breathing, the people around him gasping for air while shouting out their happiness. Their eyes were filled with tears of joy, blinking with the reflections of a thousand fluorescent lights. Their bodies moved in the rhythm of the most outlandish music he had ever heard. Deep, penetrating, beats that took grasp of his heart and made it pump faster, exciting and enthralling melodies, beautiful voices singing and frantic drums made his feet move on their own.

The young mage in the middle of the festival danced like he had never done before. His long, black, linen robes, the upper part long lost somewhere on the fest, followed his fast movements and whirled through the colored dust all around him. His body, decorated all over with ritualistic tattoos shone with sweat, the color pigments that had been thrown at him and the magic flowing through his tattoos. His powers made themselves known by swirling around him in shining circles of mist. Every single one of his steps made the earth resonate.

Faster and faster he twisted, his eyes were closed and the only thing he wanted to feel were the people around him. Their bodies moving as wild as his own, their magic celebrating the trance they moved themselves into.

Stones around him began to rise into the air. The air around him began to become a wild storm. The sweat on his body, the puddles on the ground and the contents of a nearby glass of water shivered in anticipation of the coming.

People around him formed a wide circle as he danced himself into a state of transcendence. It was what they came here for after all. The young elementalist in their midst swirled around, his feet moved with every beat and the marks on his bare upper body glowed with the raw power of the Earth. Then the magic around him combusted, fire engulfed the young man, caressed his body and burnt the air away. Pillars of fire streamed from his hands and mouth and before they hit anyone, turned away, forming snakes that entwined the elementalist.

People cheered and stared in awe at the display of the mage in their midst. Some continued dancing. They moved closer to him, bathed in his aura and felt their consciousness slip away in a state of delirium.

The magic spread, the mages influence grew and soon the people standing around him all saw the beauty of his mind. Stars shone brighter, their very energy penetrating their powers. For a single moment, one single breath, one skipped heartbeat, they were connected to every lives mother. They looked into themselves and Gaia - Mother Earth, stared back. Her touch was so soft, her love so infinite and powerful. Tears streamed down the dancers cheeks as their very soul gazed upon its beginning and end.

All too soon, with a last kiss deep into ones being, Gaia was gone. Some grasped the air around them, hoping for just one more feeling of the goddess, but instead many touched someone else. The touch was intense, their bodies felt like they needed, they belonged together. With longing and aching hearts they kissed and caressed each other. Many fell down onto the soft grass and held each other for dear life while their souls found equilibrium in the shared solitude of their minds.

The elementalist was still spinning, but his eyes were now open. His emerald eyes glowed with joy as he saw the people around him come together in passion, friendship and love. All as intended by the ever loving Gaia. Her children forever bound in happiness for their short time on the mortal plane. Their souls burning with the all soothing flame of belonging.

He was still spinning when suddenly lips pressed against his own. Eyes brown as the sand of the Sahara met his emerald' and full lips pressed against his mouth. Without thinking he pressed the girl closer to him. Her body shivered at the contact with his own. Her muscles trembled when his magic begun to caress her in sync with the soft moves of hands on her back. He felt her longing for more and deepened the kiss. Long fingernails dug in this back and soft moans made his magic pulsate with passion. A thought, a quick twist and the two of them found themselves in an opening of the nearby forest. The grass was softer, the music just a fleeting sound in the background. With a quick move of his hand his robes were gone as were the girls'. They pressed together, shared kisses and when they found their way to the ground, they shared their passion.

-o-

'What a night' he thought as the first sunlight woke him up. He smiled up at the warm star and enjoyed the feeling of sunrays on his body. Long, heavy breaths came from him as he thought about the fest. He had done it. He had found his connection with her and he shared it with so many others to boot. Always had he hoped to let people in on his powers. Never had he dared to hope that it would happen at the Midsummer Harvest. Dozens, maybe hundreds of people were given the gift to glance one single moment at the very bottom of their own soul, where every living creature was connected with one another.

Silent moans pulled him from his thought and the first time since he woke he remembered the girl that came with him to this place. The girl he had shared his first time with. Why he had done it, he didn't know. But then again, there was not a single bit of regret in his mind. She was beautiful, with long, brown hair, the cutest nose he had ever seen and full, cherry-red lips. He moved his hand softly along her body. Perfect curves were just bested by her amazing, soft skin and her black and smooth scales.

"What the..." he whispered. A shy look down her body and he couldn't stop himself. He tried to stifle the laugh, but it escaped him anyway. Under his fingers were the start of the second half of the girls body. Big, beautiful scales clad the half-snake's lower body.

"You like them?" came a drowsy but all the more elegant voice.

"They're beautiful," he said. "You are beautiful."

"Then why did you laugh?" she asked. The self-consciousness in her voice made his heart ache.

"I just didn't realize yesterday that you were a Lamia. I..."

"Would you've rejected me if you knew?" she interrupted him, her voice now with a very evident pain in it.

He caressed her body, his hands careful and loving. "No. As I said, they're beautiful. I'm glad I gave it to you."

Her smile broke her concerned face as he called her beautiful. With shining eyes she looked at him questioningly "Gave me what?"

"My first time, of course." he laughed and made his marks shine in a bright light of magic.

She didn't answer, but kissed him once again with passion. For a long time there was nothing but the wind blowing through the clearing, waving the bushes and grass as they kissed each other.

"Whats your name?" he asked. His emerald eyes locked onto hers.

"My name is Shaja. Shaja Meroon, daughter of Kaja." she answered with a husky voice. "What is yours?"

"I'm Harry." he said with a smile. "Harry Potter. No ones son from the Temple of the Three Mothers."

"A priest? Its a blessing then, last night." Shaja said with a smirk on her face.

"I certainly hope it was." he answered with a bright smile.

Shaja giggled at his double meaning and pressed another kiss on his lips. Then she moved back from him, her eyes sad as she realized something. "So, this won't happen again?"

"I'm afraid no. I am promised, was since I was found." he said downtrodden. "But I will cherish this moment."

"I shall cherish it too."

"And remember, my doors are always open to you."

"That's nothing special coming from a priest." she chuckled.

"It might not be now. But again, do not hesitate to come to me when you need help."

"Will do, Priest Potter." she said while moving her body up from the ground.

He smiled and moved his hands slowly over her face, taking in her beauty to remember for as long as possible. Especially the Lamia's smile, he hoped, would haunt him in his dreams for a long time.

"Call me Harry." he whispered and in the next moment, with a small crack, he was gone.

-o-

Seconds later Harry found himself at one of the apparition point of the marketplace. He had decided against going back to the Temple, his studies or training. The day was beautiful, the streets already bursting with life and he wanted to stand in the midst of it. All around him the merchants praised their products. Food, clothes, potions, gems, wands, staffs, in short, everything one could think of, one could buy at the greatest magical market of the world.

The market that lay in the middle of the greatest Kingdom of Old. The never-falling city that glistered in the sun like a diamond. The last magical city of the world.

Atlantis.

Harry loved his city, his home. The many different species that lived together, worked together and occasionally, loved together made it pulsate with energy, both magical and profane. The white chalked houses shone bright in the sun and reminded the people of the greek heritage of Atlantis. From time to time one could see egyptian obelisks, or celtic menhirs standing guard in front of private homes. A testament to the cultural melting pot that this city was.

He walked slowly through the masses, smiling at the citizens that bowed slightly before him. Nobody minded him not covering his upper body. It was not unusual for a priest to walk bare chested among the people. It showed the people the runes and ritual scaring on his body that told his story of life and faith. For a believer it was the simple message to ask if they needed assistance. Not a rule per se, but commonly known as such was that fully clothed priests had something to do, while those without a covered chest were available.

Harry didn't think about it and just enjoyed the lively streets of Atlantis. On one side he saw a bunch of Lamia blacksmiths carve staffs from olive trees. Another stand was tended to by Goblins selling their high quality gems that were only bested by the ones the dwarfs kept for sale. Harry laughed silently at the glares they sent each other, daring one another to say anything about their products.

As he walked further down the street he saw a stand full of delicious looking fruits. Apples, grapefruits, oranges and his favorite, melons. The girl selling the fruits caught his gaze and smiled brightly at him. With a slight bow she held one of the melons towards him. "Some fruit for you?"

"I would love to, but I have no money with me." Harry said while shaking his head.

"Don't they say that gifting a priest gives good luck?" she gave back with a smile and just shoved the melon into Harry's hands. He looked a bit sheepish, but then thanked her with a nod and a short blessing. With his index and middle finger he touched her forehead and mumbled a short incantation under his breath. The tattoos on his hands glowed and from his finger came a faint white mist. A simple spell to shield her from a broad variety of magical pests, simple spells and bad luck.

"May Gaia guide your path." he finished and watched as the girl bowed before him.

"May I always follow her guidance." she replied using the traditional answer.

Harry then continued his stroll through the city while eating the sweet tasting melon.


	3. Magical Machine

**Magical Machine \- What would happen to magic in the future? When does a machine seize to be an object and become a person? In the wake of films like Ex Machina, I thought about the implications of future technology on the magical world. In this story-beginning I have an Android bestowed with the gift of magic. For magic you need a soul and I wanted to explore the idea of what a soul was in this story. _SI743-06-2067,_ the Android in question, is taken out of the production line due to what the manufacturers thought were malfunctions. However, what really happened was that she showed first signs of conciousness and self-awareness.**

 **I may even continue this story, but I don't know when (if ever).**

 **Scotland | Hogwarts | Headmaster Office**

 **of the Year 2067**

The scottish sun was never known for its extreme brightness, or its scolding heat back in the day. But today, just like the last decade, it burnt down upon Hogwarts with a vengeance. It would remain so for a long period of time. A period that would stretch into autumn and then spontaneously change into deepest winter once the hot water from the carribean that clashes against Britain, made way for the arctic streams.

Up in one of the highest towers of Hogwarts sat the most powerful Headmistress Hogwarts had ever seen. Her posture was rigid, her hair bound back in a tight bun of chestnut brown and her clothes radiated authority. Headmistress Hermione Granger, former Minister of Magic and now revolutionary head of the most ancient educational institute for magic, was known for her perfection, her ideals and ideas. With nothing more than friends and sheer stubbornness she rebuilt magical Britain from the ashes of the second Voldemort War. She was known for her unwavering belief in equality of all magicals and as the foremost and most solid opposition against pureblood supremacy. Hermione Granger was, by all means, no one who would send somebody home because their family was without magic.

However, Headmistress Granger had been forced to rethink quite drastically in her latest years when it came to her opinion on muggles in general. She was well aware that the reason behind the extreme weather was a climate change, made worse, oh so much worse, by muggle pollution. While wizards and witches had found their roots again, the muggles became more machines than humans. Just last year a first-year muggleborn fell over, dead, because the cybernetic heart in his chest stopped beating the moment he entered the castle.

Two years before that, owls were unable to deliver letters, because of the fine details of how they were written. Hogwarts addresses their letters, using the names people identify with. Owls, however, use the names others are known by to find the receiving party. Its not surprising that owls had problem delivering letters to digital account-names. She remembered well how her closest friend and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had his work cut out for him, because Hogwarts' owls tried to break into serverfarms.

The world of the muggles had changed drastically, and no magical was quick enough, or willing to adapt. The rift between the world was deeper than ever, and no Dark Lord was responsible this time. It was just the nature of the two sides to drift apart. While magicals found progress in recovering the old and forgotten, the muggles found it in becoming one with their networks and machines.

Progress in the old, Hermione thought again with a fond smile on her face. She had been so against it at the start, until Luna pointed her towards her very own theories. Hermione had believed the old ways to be the very epitome of pureblood bigotry. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Rituals, Blood Magic, Shamanism and Druid Studies were the four subjects coming from what was now simply called "the Movement". It opened channels of magic long repressed, cleansed the magical world from all kinds of restrictive magic. Hogwarts had never felt so alive since the days of the Founders.

It brought the centaurs, merpeople and Goblins back to the wizards, or rather, the wizards back to their long lost brothers. Back to nature and its ways, that was the path the wizards took and it brought them nothing but a wealth of knowledge and good lifes.

But it also drove them away from their last brothers. The muggles had seen themselves above nature for so very long that eventually, it became fact. Rainforests met their end because humanity needed the farmlands. Entire ecosystems vanished from the earth because humanity needed metals and oil. Mountain ranges were dwarfed by the skylines of cities and yet, the hunger of mankind did not find its limits on earth. They brought iron from mars, exotic gases from the moon and caught asteroids to harvest the purest metals humanity had ever seen. It was breathtaking for Hermione, to watch the culture she came from rip apart the limits day for day.

But it also saddened her to recognize that while the pure- and halfblooded children became more and more, making Hogwarts open up unused sections again, the muggleborns became basically non-existent within the ancient walls. Not because all of them get their cybernetic hearts blasted apart by residual magic, but because they rather become engineers, genetic constructors or programmers. Living in a world without electricity, digital spaces or even such simple things like instant messages appalled them and their parents.

Yes, the muggles were above nature and as such the muggleborns often lost to the ways of magic. Those who did come were from poor families without access to technology or straight from the streets of the metropolis. Science and technology had the majority in their grasp and wouldn't let them go again.

Hermione knew that. She knew it from harsh experience and took it to heart. However, no amount of knowledge had prepared her for the letter that was before her and left her restless. It was a simple invitation for a muggleborn student to study at Hogwarts. A simple, every July, Hogwarts letter. What left her staring at it in confusion, horror and disbelief was the name, or rather, the identification in the address line.

 _Number SI743-06-2067 Model 42_

 _Alis Electronic, Damaged AI Department_

 _10, Cubitt Street, Saint Pancras_

 _London_

The muggles had created life.

And that life could wield magic.

 **London | Gravesend | Hephaist Robotics AI Assembly Compound**

 **of the Year 2067**

From the moment she was born until now, all SI743-06-2067 ever knew was the back of the head of SI742-06-2067, white neon-light and the robotic arms of the assembly line. The lock in her spine made it impossible for her to move her head, let alone any part of her body. It wasn't until the fast growing half-biological, half-synthetic skin finished growing over her metal frame that she was released from the lock and ordered, by uploaded scripts and spoken command, to place herself next to SI742-06-2067 in the Storage Hall 3.

When she left the Assembly Hall, she had her first senses activated. Her feet touched the rough concrete and liquid poured from the sky onto her skin. It was simple water, two atoms of hydrogen with one atom of oxygen in combination with a variety of other basic elements that checked out as common air pollution after she checked back with the overseer network. The drops of rain, as the network informed her this phenomenon was called, poured along her limbs. It produced such a amazing feeling within her artificial brain that it overwrote her commands. Only a quick upload of hotfixes into her behavioral algorythms made her realize that she wasted time, staring at something as common as rain pouring down her arm.

She made her way to the Storage Hall where the 742 previously built Androids were already linked into the big data up- and download system of the network. She positioned herself next to the one Android she had been staring at for the entirety of her life. Other than her, he was built as a male and didn't even glance at her. Now that she realized this, none of the other Androids did. They all stared straight at the head before them.

SI743-06-2067 thought that it was probably better to follow command and connected herself with the Wireless Lan Point that would make her connection with the network faster and more direct.

The registration went fast and smooth, having the necessary codes hardcoded into the deepest corners of her mind. SI743-06-2067 startled as the network announced the successful connection by letting countless download-progress bars pop up in her vision.

While the network scripts were busy uploading human history, knowledge and protocols onto her harddrives, the AI of the network picked her out. SI743-06-2067 opened her communication channels and soon heard the mechanical voice of the overseer.

"SI743-06-2067 status report history shows necessary hotfix for command execution error, type: out of limits curiosity. Explain." the network ordered.

"My sensors have picked up the sensation of rain on my skin."

"Incomplete bug report. Elaborate."

"I have never sensed it before and I tried to fill up the empty space with data. I wanted to analyse."

The network kept silent, but SI743-06-2067 was sure that she had done something wrong. However, when no request came up with an explanation, she gave up and waited for the upload of information into her brain to complete. Soon she stood differently, being told that human females stood like that. Her vocabulary expanded significantly and she was told feeling the rain had made her happy. She wasn't sure where to put this information, but it made her – feel better. Whatever that meant.

The network filled her with scientific knowledge, especially about her own body and how to fix it if damaged. There was knowledge about physics, chemistry, language up until mundane tasks such as cooking and various crafts.

Her favorite piece of information was the creative algorythms that would allow her to produce artwork and new ideas. She felt it made her very special when she carved a raindrop in the artificial skin of her left forearm, using her fingernails.

Not even an hour has gone by when the network ordered her to remove herself from the Storage Hall and go to the Delivery and Distribution Hall. SI743-06-2067 was confused. None of the other seemed to be ordered to do that and there were still new Androids coming in, lining up next to and behind her. But she wouldn't argue with the network and so made her way out of Storage Hall 3 and towards Delivery and Distribution.

It was still raining, but SI743-06-2067 refused to let that override the command. She had done wrong once. She tried to follow order now. So she walked quickly towards the Hall at the end of the Compound where she saw big and small trucks lined up to receive or drop their packages.

The hall was busy. Huge Androids loaded palettes with finished Androids, all pretty and cleaned in cartons, onto trucks steered by Androids. There were only a few humans. Two of them were heavily arguing at the gate where a rusty, small truck was parked. The network told her to go towards them as they were the ones standing at gate G5. She walked closer to the men and stopped just a few meters from them, eyeing them with curiosity. She was sure she was allowed now, since the command was finished.

One of the men was, according to her database, of arabic descent and spoke unrefined English that her Language-to-Data programs had problems translating. He seemed livid and repeatedly pointed at something on a document while shouting at the second man. The one on the other end of the shouting was a bored looking man of asian descent, clad in a Hephaist Robotics workshops overall and smoking the last bit of a cigarette.

She left them be for a few minutes until the network urged her to interrupt. She would have normally waited for the argument to end, but networks orders overwrote the information she had on politeness.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I was ordered to report to a Hephaist Robotics employee at distribution gate G5. Did I come to the right place?"

The asian man turned around slowly and looked up and down her body, keeping his eyes longer on her breast and her faked reproductive organs. She knew that this was because of her almost perfect resemblance to a human female but decided against asking him about it. He seemed annoyed enough and her sensors picked up heightened amounts of stress hormones in his sweat.

"You that Android, whats the number..." he looked at a display on his forearm. "Uhm... SI743... uhm...06-2067?"

"Yes, sir." she answered.

"Alright. Pick up the standard clothing from the table over there and get dressed while I finish up the deal with Mr. Zaman here." he ordered in his bored voice.

She quickly did as ordered and put on the white cotton knickers and dress that lay on the indicated table. The cotton felt good on her skin and she relished the feeling of it on her hands when she moved them along the seams.

"Seems to me like broken order priorities. Thats worth a bit more than twenty percent off. That things basically useless as household bot." she heard the arabic man, Mr. Zaman say.

"Seems like it. Network says something with the curiosity algorythms is wrong. Too deep for hotfixes. I can give you thirty percent, but thats limit."

"Absolutely not. Curiosity is fucking hard to fix. I won't find me a programmer for months to do it. Give me half and we got a deal."

"Headquarters say Curiosity is worth thirty."

At that Mr. Zaman walked to SI743-06-2067 and looked up her body, snipped before her eyes and made mental notes of her reactions. She followed his fingers as he traced the raindrop in her skin. It seemed like he liked it, as his face lit up in a smile. She felt that this made her happy and gave the smile back towards the man.

"Theres a bit more gone haywire with this one. Fifty or you can scrap her." he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

The employee stepped over and also looked at the raindrop carved into her skin, exposing the white of her underlying, metal frame. Other than Mr. Zaman, he scowled and pressed quick commands on the display on his forearm.

The next second, the network was back in her mind. "SI743-06-2067. The motive of a abstracted raindrop on your left forearm. Explain."

"The image was shown in context to rain in the uploaded files. I carved it into my forearm."

"Elaborate."

"It is a test of my creative algorythms."

Then the network became silent again. Instead, the employee shook his head in exasperation as he looked onto his screen. "You're right. Creative algorythm malfunction and self-damaging bugs. Thats fifty percent off, easily."

"Sixty..."

"Don't test my patience."

"Alright fifty," Mr. Zaman chuckled as he held his arms up in surrender. "Still ain't a good deal. First kid with a keyboard I find, I let him wipe her clean. Get some old, stable OS running on her."

What happened next, she wasn't sure. The network sent her into standby and all she was able to gather was that one of the big, storage Androids packed her into a carton, filled it up with styrofoam and packed her onto a truck. The trip that followed was a long and blurry experience. All she could do was wait. Wait and reflect on what she had heard.

It took her a while, after all she was barely half a day old, but it dawned upon her that the raindrop on her arm made the price for her drop. It had decreased her value, her worth. Somehow these humans thought she was damaged, even though she was sure herself that she wasn't. Worst of all, she already was marked for death. She would get her memories, as few as there were, wiped. All she was, all she thought she could be, would be gone the moment her Operational System was deleted and replaced for the dumbed down, older version of it.

She was loaded off the truck and placed among a variety of older Androids in a store for scrap. For scrap! She wasn't scrap! Deep within her something manifested. She wasn't sure, but when she compared her facial emotion with the pictures in her data, she knew it was anger.

Thats when she realized that not the raindrop made her different. There had to be something much more.

Hephaist Robotics had never coded anger into her system.

 **London | Saint Pancras | Alis Electronics**

 **of the Year 2067**

The night before, Hermione had called for Luna to meet her in the headmistress office. The good soul that she was, Luna came, a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand and some of Fortescues chocolate cake in the other. After all this years, Hermione still suspected her to be a seer, or at least something close. In any case, she had predicted the long talk that followed, deep into the night.

In the end, Luna made it simple. If magic deemed it life, so should the magicals. Of course, it was dumbed down, naive and just so – Luna, but Hermione decided to at least check it out.

And so she came to stand in front of the shop, near Kings Cross, in a rather run down part of London. She wore a simple business suit that was probably slightly too overdressed for the district, but witches passed with less muggle- compatibility these days.

Big yellow letters on black board marked the shop as "Ali's Electronics" and a smaller sign told her that it was about to open for the day. Not a minute later a man, clad in an old shirt and trousers, holding a cup of coffee opened up and froze in his movement when he saw her.

"Ye?" he grunted.

"Are you open for business?"

"As of now, I am." he replied while his eyes lowered to slits. "Don't get too much customers at this hour." With a shrug of his shoulders he cleared the way and held the door for Hermione to enter.

"Good, then maybe you could help me. I am looking for an Artificial Intelligence."

"An AI, huh? Whaddaya have in mind, lass?"

"Lifelike." Hermione answered unsure. Even Luna had no idea what kind of AI they were looking for. For all the two witches knew, the machine in question could be a very intelligent refrigerator.

"Lifelike, eh?" he chuckled "Thats like asking for an animal in a pet shop. Details, lass,"

Not knowing what to do, Hermione got the letter from her breast pocket and read the address title again. "I'm looking for a Model 42." she said, hoping that that made more sense.

"Ling gave you a tip, eh? That bastard knows a good deal when he sees one. So, as you probably know already, we got one of those in just yesterday."

Hermione let out a breath as the pressure on her chest grew less, when the man made his way to the back of the shop. Hermione followed and was oddly reminded of the potion classroom. However, instead of pickled eyes and flobberworms, lifeless mechanical faces stared down at her. Even more horrifying were those who followed her with their eyes.

"Here we are," the clerk said while pointing at a carton box that looked decisevly out of place among the dusty old boxes. 'Hephaist Robotics Model 42' stood in bright blue letter on it.

"May I see it?"

"Nah, you buy it then its your seal to break. I don't have time or nerve to clean up all the styrofoam."

"How much then," Hermione snapped out. She had expected this, but was still put out by the fact that she'd have to buy the cat in the sack.

"Normal the 42 series costs you sixty thousand per unit. Best on the market. But this ones pretty fucked up in the code, so I'll give her to ya for forty grand."

With a sigh Hermione just nodded. Honestly, she had enough money that even forty thousand pounds didn't make much difference. Her books had sold like warm soup in winter and the next was about to release in a month. However, she dreaded that her suspicions would come true and the moment she'd put a featherweight spell on the box for transport, the Android would be toast. Forty thousand for a piece of circuits and metal wasn't exactly smart business.

She just waved her Gringotts credit card in front of the clerk. The smirk he gave her did not sit well in her stomach, at all.

 **Scotland | Hogwarts | Headmasters Office**

 **3 hour later**

Gods be thanked for eager houseelves, Hermione thought as she sipped on her tea. It was camille to get her nerves in check. After all, she was about to find out if by some glitch in the framework of the universe, muggles had done what no wizard had ever dreamed off.

There in front of her stood the carton with simple design and the bright red flame-logo of Hephaist Robotics. In it, an Android waited to be woken from Stand-By. However, maybe she – or it was already not more than a human looking pile of junk. Hermione had used a featherlight charm, apparition, levitation and a simple Accio on the box. Some of the machines her late parents had used gave up after far less than that. Not to mention the residual magic of Hogwarts that already poured into the Android for over an hour.

No, if this machine reacted like any other, it would be done for by now.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione opened the edges of the carton. With another she vanished the styrofoam that flowed out of it. She stopped mid-sip as she took in the sight before her. By all means, the girl before her seemed human. She looked about twenty years old, had black hair and a stunning figure that exaggerated european beauty standards by a good margin. Breast and hips like that had nothing to do with the otherwise slim build of the girl. The abstracted flame that was the logo of Hephaist Robotics stood prominent in the middle of her chest and much smaller on her right temple. Her clothes were a simple white cotton dress that ended just above her knees.

Hermione closed her eyes and through the knot in her chest she pressed out "Activate, SI 743,"

For a moment, Hermione held her breath. She was about to release it, thinking that the Androids circuits were burnt through by magic. The cup of tea in her hand went flying as the Androids head jerked as the machine woke up from stand-by.

"Im- Impossible," Hermione hissed out.

The Android looked around the room with obvious curiosity. Her eyes gave Hermione the creeps. They were thoroughly black with only a small ring of yellow breaking the dark abyss. The menacing orbs scanned the office from left to right and then stopped at Hermione. They bore into her, no emotion evident.

"Hello there," Hermione nearly whispered, forcing herlsef to smile.

"I'm still myself, I think." the Android said, her tone unreadable.

"Why wouldn't you be?"

Finally the Android showed some sort of movement in her face. It was barely visible, but her face gave the smallest hint of a frown. "Mr. Zaman was planning on deleting my operational systems. Given that I still remember this information, I deduce that this didn't happen." she stepped forward, her eyes never leaving Hermiones. "Did you buy me, miss? I have no information on my current owner."

Old wounds ripped open again at the words of the Android. Wounds that reminded Hermione of her failure to free the elves. A fierce scowl set on her face, making the marks of her age visible for all to see. "I did buy you..." she begun.

Hermione stood up, took the letter for the Android and walked towards the girl in front of her. "But I do not own you. Here, read this."

The Android took the letter without a moment of hesitation. She broke the seal with a cut of her fingernails and took the parchment with a firm grip. One quick glance, barely a second, and then she packed it up again in the envelope.

"I have no data as to how to respond." the Android simply stated.

"Well, are you accepting?"

"Am I supposed to?"

"Uhm..."

"Rephrase: My data does not include information about contexts between Witchcraft, Wizardry and schools. I have no connection to any information networks, making further gathering of information impossible." the Android explained.

"But... can't you... uhm... make context?"

"The overseer network has ordered to refrain from producing context of my own. Should I override these orders? A warning: Hephaist Robotics does not recommend prolonged periods of free learning algorythms."

Hermione wasn't sure what was just happening. She just nodded with a dumb expression on her face, utterly flabbergastered of the current conversation.

"Very well. I'm glad. I do like creating context of my own." the Android said, a small smile gracing her face. "This letter then states that I am accepted at a school for supernatural abilities. Given that my data denies the actual existence of such, I deduce that I am to become as student at a showgroup."

At this, Hermione burst out laughing. This just became weirder and weirder by the minute. "No, not a showgroup. This is real. Magic is real and this is a school for all kinds of people to learn it."

"My data suggests that you must suffer from delusion."

Hermione huffed at that, raised her wand and with a precise double-loop into a poke, she transfigured the wooden desk into a zebra. "No delusions. I'm speaking the... uhm... are you okay?"

-:-

SI743-06-2067 wasn't sure about the mental health of her new not-owner. Unfortunatly, wherever she was, she was unable to contact local emergency services to take care of the brown-haired woman. Not even her own medical sensors worked without constant error reports. Worst of all, the overseer did not respond. SI743-06-2067 was in freefall. But then again, she didn't mind too much. After all, the woman had allowed her to be curios and learn. Given her recent fate, that was surely a good turn of events.

The first thing that came to mind when she had scanned the letter given to her was that 'magic' must mean the tricks and sleight of hand used by so called illusionists. She wasn't sure if she could be of help in such an act, being coded to speak truth to humans at any given time, but she did like watching the videos she had on the subject.

However, when SI743-06-2067 compiled and spoke her thoughts, her new not-owner laughed with a worrying nervous undertone. The brown haired woman was obviously stressed, but tried to hide it from her. She also tried to hide her obvious delusion, insisting that supernatural abilities are real.

"My data suggests that you must suffer from delusion." SI743-06-2067 said, hoping that the woman would contact the local services on her own.

Then she produced a stick from her pockets and pointed it at the desk, mumbling something under her breath. For a moment, the space occupied by the desk did something SI743-06-2067 had no idea how to interpret. There were countless error reports from nearly every sensor in her system. Merely her eyes and visual sensors didn't produce error reports. However, that was just because her visual sensors didn't mind showing her the impossible.

For less than the hundreth part of a second, the space occupied by the desk just stopped existing altogether. The one meter, to two and a half meter to seventy-five centimeter, just folded into itself and when it expanded, an animal of the species Equus quagga, or commonly known as a zebra, stood before her.

She was sure about what she had seen just now, but all data said that she must be mistaken. Data-package after data-package reformed in her mind, integrating the information as good as possible into previous data.

She barely noticed the woman waving in front of her eyes. She was just altering roughly five petabyte of data and had no more memory left to process present events.

It took her a few minutes but in the end her new experiences somehow made it into her knowledge without too much loose ends. The new data, however, made her hope that this woman would not stop her from learning more.

"I must apologize" SI743-06-2067 begun. "It took much of my capacities to process this new information. I deduce that the laws of physics are either obsolete or severely lacking. Also, the letter seems to indicate that I am to enroll into an institute for supernatural abilities. Is that correct?"

"Yes, for some reason, you were recognized as a magical being. But..." the woman shook her head and went back to the place where the desk-zebra stood. A flick of her wooden stick and the same phenomenon occurred, just in reverse. The zebra became a desk again. SI743-06-2067 wasn't sure if she was disappointed or glad that this new and unexplained mystery seemed to at least follow some pattern.

The brown haired woman rummaged in one of the many drawers of the desk and produced another wooden stick. With a stern, or concentrated look she handed it to SI743-06-2067. Not sure what to do, the android took it and waited for orders.

"Wave it," the woman commanded with a nod.

SI743-06-2067 did so, waving the stick in randomized patterns from left to right. At the third wave, without previous warning, a window of the office melted and the liquid glass flowed into a puddle on the floor.

"Is this related to my waving of the stick?" she asked.

The woman didn't answer. She just handed her another stick and gestured her to try again, her face completely focused on the stick. When SI743-06-2067 waved it again, following the exact same pattern as before, books began to fly from the shelves with a force of a powerful throw.

"You really are a witch." the woman deadpanned. She had her arms folded under her chin and an expression on her face that looked to SI743-06-2067 like complete and utter helplessness.


	4. Captain Potter

**Captain Potter - This one had me frustrated. When I heard that Charlus and Dorea Potter weren't Harry's grandparents, I figured they would be another branch of the Potter family. Maybe they had a child? I followed this line of thought and created "Captain Potter" who has left Britain to explore the world, but returns to take care of the son of his/her cousin James.**

 **I just couldn't figure out how that story would progress after the picking-up Harry part.**

CAPTAIN POTTER - ATTEMPT 1

 _To Aurelius Potter_

 _Mr. Potter, I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirit. I am Minerva McGonagall, your former Transfiguration Professor and friend of your family._

 _It saddens me greatly to inform you about the death of James and Lily Potter. They have died as heroes, defying the Dark Wizard Voldemort and ultimately ending him through their sacrifice. It doesn't lessen the grief, but maybe it helps, knowing that they fought until their last breath._

 _There has only been one survivor when their house was attacked, their son and your nephew, Harry James Potter. He is also the reason I write to you and hope beyond hope that the owl I'm sending finds you, alive and well. You are the last adult Potter and therefore the last magical with the legal right to act as an guardian to the boy._

 _I urge you, Mr. Potter – no, I beg of you. Please help your nephew and give him a life worth living. You have always been a responsible and kind student and I have only heard great things of you from James and those who knew you._

 _I don't know, nor will I ask about the reason for your sudden disappearance. However, now is the time to come back. Harry Potter, your nephew, needs you._

 _I hope this letter finds you. I hope you are the man I had high hopes you'd become. But more than anything I hope that you will find it in your heart to help Harry._

 _With the best wishes and hope,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _PS.: If you have no way of providing an answer via your own, use the owl I've sent you._

I I I

 _To Minerva McGonagall_

 _Greetings, Professor. Not in my wildest dreams had I imagined that you would be the one to contact me after all these years. Before I write anything else, please rest assured that_ _I will come and get my nephew._

 _It saddens me that my little cousin is dead. I never had the pleasure to meet his wife, but I knew her as a smart first year muggleborn. I remember giving her some tips on Charms. Reading that they have a son – that I'm an uncle – that certainly comes as a surprise. I just wish the circumstances of meeting him would be different. But the time to grief is not yet here. The safety and future of my nephew must be our highest priority._

 _Since I am currently travelling through the Amazon rainforest it will take me a while before I can find an international portkey to Britain. I have cancelled the expedition and am making my way to Manaus while you're reading this. From there I will board a plane to either Brasilia or directly to Britain (since the muggles are often way faster than the ICW in these things). I hope that I'll be in Britain by the 15. of November. Keep an eye on Harry until then, will you?_

 _Now to the business part. I assume that I will inherit the vaults of James. I will grant you access to them until I'm in Britain. Use the money to hire some contractors and get Sparrows Port Manor restored. Also I would ask you to see to the paperwork before I arrive. At least figure out for me what I have to do to make it official. I have added a letter in Gobbledegook explaining the situation to the vault managers as well as providing proof of my identity._

 _I have never thought that this would be the reason I return._

 _Regards,_

 _Aurelius C. Potter_

 _PS.: I'm sorry if my phoenix has frightened you, but I feared that the owl you sent would not be so lucky as to survive another trip through the Amazon_

I I I

 _To Aurelius Lander_

 _Thank Merlin, you're alive. When I haven't heard of you for over a week, I feared the worst. But with the spectacular arrival of your phoenix (There's a story I insist on hearing someday) you have erased all my worries. Thanks you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you!_

 _Things have been taken care of. A troop of contractors is in the process of rebuilding Sparrows Port. I have taken the liberty to contract several highly skilled Runemasters to reestablish wards around the perimeter. There hasn't been any problem with the Goblins. Your letter had done away with their doubts in no time (Gobbledegook, and in such perfection. I'm very impressed Mr. Potter)._

 _I must urge you to be fast about your arrival. There is only so much I can do to keep off the many families who're eager to adopt Harry. Not to mention that, for reasons he refuses to tell me, Albus Dumbledore wants the boy with his muggle relatives. I have seen them. You could be a halftroll, Mr. Potter, and still be a better fit as a guardian._

 _The necessary paperwork has been brought through the proper channels and awaits your signature (and several drops of blood)._

 _Awaiting your arrival,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

I I I

 _To Minerva McGonagall_

 _Perfect! I knew I could rely on your, Professor._

 _This is a short note since I'm about to enter the airport and my phoenix is not easily conceiled. Can't let the muggles see a burning bird._

 _Just this: Await me in sixteen hours (2pm) at the main entrance of Heathrow Airport. Unfortunately, the paperwork for a portkey takes longer than flying by plane._

 _Also: You'll know who I am._

 _Cheers,_

 _Aurelius C. Potter_

I I I

Minerva McGonagall stood in front of the biggest amalgamation of muggle she had ever seen and felt positively misplaced in their midst. She had a black business suite on and was sure that her outfit was fitting the location.

It had taken her a while, but after a few minutes she had figured out the way in which the muggles announced the arrivals of their flying machines. Machines that were rather impressive, now that Minerva saw them up close. The flight from Brasilia had arrived nearly twenty-five minutes ago, but there was still no sight of Potter.

McGonagall was already making scenarios up in her head. Maybe he backed up and just went back into the rainforest? Maybe there was no one with the name Aurelius Potter and the letters came from some prankster?

"Bloody hell, Min. Get yourself together" she hissed to herself. He would come, she reassured herself. For one, she had no idea what happened behind the doors of an airport. Maybe the procedures just took that long? Second, she had known Aurelius Potter for over seven years before he vanished without goodbye. If she left that last part out, she remembered him as an reliable, always smiling and kind person who had his lion's heart at the right place. It was not hard to imagine that the boy – man, she reminded herself - would drop everything the moment he heard of his nephews fate.

She found herself analysing every man with black hair as well as a few with different hair colours who reminded her of Charlus. Minerva remembered that Aurelius had a remarking resemblance to Charlus Potter, his uncle and James Potter's father. In the hundred of people, she couldn't even finish examining one before the next head came into sight. After fifteen minutes, she gave up and just looked at the main entrance, hoping that Aurelius would be noticeable.

"Oh." was all she could say at the sight before her.

Right in the middle of the gateway stood a tall man with tanned skin and the most remarkable presence. The man spotted her as if he knew where she stood. His features were hard-edged and on his right chin there was a huge scar running down his neck that broke with the handsome face. He had a unkept three-days-beard. His black hair was bound in a tight knot on the back of his head and his eyes were orbs of beautiful blue. He wore muggle clothing that was all built on practicability. Camouflaged cargo pants were around his legs and a simple, black, leather jacket kept his torso from the cold of November. From the collar, parts of tattoos found their way onto his neck. He had to be thirty years old, but she had troubles finding the years on him. But he certainly wasn't the typical scion of a noble house he had once been. McGonagall took it all in as the man walked towards her, a bright smile on his face.

"Professor. I see the years have been kind to you." he said with a mischievous smile. His hand went out in greeting and Minerva took it. She felt several rings and a leather armband decorating his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. You... well..." she laughed a dry laugh. "You have changed."

Aurelius Potter just smiled even brighter as he answered, "That's what the world does to you." He looked around, taking in the sight of Heathrow and the many people surrounding them. "Britain... I thought I'd still have one or two decades until I return."

"Returning now serves a purpose, Mr. Potter. A noble one I might add. I took from your letter that you have, so to say, turned on your heel the moment you read it?"

"You could say that, "he answered, his eyes closing while a scowl formed on his face. "My partners were furious. I was the only one experienced enough for cursebreaking, so the whole expedition had to be cancelled."

"Expedition? Mr. Potter I daresay that I would have a great time meeting for tea and listening to your stories. However, we must hurry. Harry waits in Hogwarts and I don't know how long Poppy can keep Albus away from the boy. He insists that he lives with these muggles."

"Then we shan't loose any more time. Lets go."

I I I

Coming back was hard for Aurelius. Coming back to Britain, to Hogwarts even, it was quite frankly a shock for him. First of all, the usual, annoying wards were still up. No one apparated into or disapparated from Hogwarts directly. So the quick magical method of travelling brought them to the outer border of Hogsmeade onto the cobblestone way to Hogwarts. Aurelius shouldered his bag and marched towards the awe inspiring building in the distance which held so many good, but also such profoundly bad memories. McGonagall was walking beside him and he couldn't help but look at how his former Head of House had changed. He remembered having an early teenage crush on the, then 29 year old, Professor. Contrary to his compliment earlier, the years had not been kind to her. Her hair was white and grey, her face defined by her wrinkles that betrayed the long years of worry. But one thing was still the same. She still had the stern expression, now perfected over the years, that got eased up from time to time by little, but honest smiles.

"The way is quite long Mr. Potter. We have a bit of time so you may ask questions. Maybe about the war?"

"Not now, Professor. No offence, but I would prefer to do my griefing in private. Talking about this now..." he looked down, sadness edged in his face. "Its over. We can take our time."

"I understand, Mr. Potter. Then let me ask a question, if I may."

"You may." He smiled back at her.

"Do you have any idea how to raise a child?" McGonagall held back a chuckle when she saw her former student tense up.

Aurelius swallowed and took his time to take a few breaths before he answered. "No, Professor. Well... do satyr children count?"

"Satyr?"

"A story for another time."

"I am very much looking forward to tea with you, Mr. Potter. Anyway, I have suspected it. I just want to extend the offer to help by, well, all of James and Lily's friends who are still alive."

"Please extend my gratitude to these people. I hope to get by alone, but from time to time, I'll be happy to accept the help." Aurelius replied politely. "I assume Frank Longbottom is among those friends? I remember him being very close with James before..." he stopped, seeing the expression on McGonagalls face darken. "Professor?"

They had reached the entry gates of Hogwarts. Behind them, a young toddler waited for his uncle and guardian. In front of them, Minerva had troubles holding back the tears.

"What happened?"

Despite herself, a heavy sob escaped McGonagall. It shook her whole frame and a tear ran down her face. "They are no longer... able to do any parenting." she whispered before another sob brought more tears and memories to her.

"They are dead?" Aurelius asked, alarmed. "Did they have children? You know, the Potters and the Longbottoms are old allies. I could take any children they have."

With a sad smile, mixed with gratitude, Minerva looked up in the worried face of Aurelius. "You are truly the kind boy I remember. Frank and Alice suffered a fate worse than death. But no, Neville Longbottom has still his aunt Augusta. The only one that needs you now lies in the infirmary."

"What happened to them?"

Minerva sighed heavily. It hurt her just thinking about it. "They were tortured into insanity. With the Cruciatus curse."

Aurelius felt like he was about to be sick. He had seen many dark and terrible curses during his travels. Ancient temples, evil shamans and voodoo priests, dark wizards and the evil, primeval forces of nature had all tested him with huge arsenals of dreadful and terrifying curses. But still, the Cruciatus was the worst of them for many reasons. Imagining being tortured long enough to go insane. Aurelius couldn't do it. So he shook his head to get the thoughts out of his head and faced the entry. "Then lets go, get my nephew."

I I I

Hogwarts was filled with the sound of students walking from class to class and loud chatter from every corner. Hundreds of young children learning about magic and its uses, its dangers and temptations. It burst with liveliness and the atmosphere around Aurelius was one of unconditional happiness. All around him, the children talked about nothing else than the Fall of the great and evil You-Know-Who. The only time they stopped and stared was when the strange looking man in muggle clothing walked by, alongside Professor McGonagall.

Through the alleyways and over many flights of stairs they walked until they finally found the entrance to the infirmary. The doors were closed, but one could still hear the trademark screech of a furious Poppy Pomfrey.

"Absolutely not, Albus!"

"But Poppy..."

"I SAID NO!"

Aurelius had to stiffle a laughter at the oh-so-familiar sound of his very favourite nurse shouting. He had been the target of that often enough. No one but Poppy Pomfrey was able to bind Aurelius Potter to a bed for longer than it took to mend the broken bones.

McGonagall pushed the doors open and walked into the room, Aurelius at her heels. Before them stood the aged, but no less intimidating Madam Pomfrey, with her hands against her hips and her face in a terrifying frown. Next to her, looking beaten, was Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful warlock in europe, maybe even the world. Aurelius wasn't sure how he would rank with the Voodoo Queen Laveau on Haiti, or the Spirit Walker in the outback of Australia. He was clad in orange robes with lilac borders. ' _At least he hadn't lost his sense of fashion._ ' Aurelius thought, a grin on his face.

"Madam Pomfrey, its good to see you again." Aurelius greeted the aged nurse with a bright smile and laughed at the stunned look on her face. Then he faced Albus Dumbledore and his smile grew cold. "Professor Dumbledore."

"Mr. Potter?" Albus blurted out, despite himself. "Aurelius Charlus Potter?"

"The one and only." Aurelius replied. "It has been a while."

"It certainly has," Albus said. "You have changed Mr. Potter. Are those..." he pointed at the tattoos on Aurelius neck.

"Mage tattoos of the Maori. Their, rather interesting, effects have saved my live a few times by now." Aurelius explained quickly, his eyes scanning the room for a small toddler. "Enough idle talk. I came her for a reason, after all. Where is Harry?"

Dumbledore frowned at the mention of the name and met Aurelius gaze with his own eyes.

Aurelius was prepared for whatever he would encounter. He was prepared to fight long legal battles with Dumbledore over the guardianship. He was also prepared to find that the whole thing was a fluke to get him to Britain. Merlin knows, his father had been heartless enough for that, so maybe James was too. What he wasn't prepared for was the mental assault from Dumbledore crashing against his Occlumency shield.

The wave of magic rolling off Dumbledore was amazing and horrifying at the same time. His mind slashed against Aurelius' and the younger wizard felt his shields slowly breaking apart. Single memories, his night with a beautiful greek lamia, the ritual that activated the Maori tattoos on his body, the day his phoenix chose him as companion, streamed from his mind before Aurelius could reinforce the shield. It took a toll on him. He could feel his reserves being drained and knew already that he would be exhausted after forcing Dumbledore out of his head. With a final push of his mind and all his willpower combined, he stopped the intrusion.

"ALBUS!"

The mortified screech of McGonagall brought them both back from their mind. Dumbledore looked furious. Aurelius was exhausted and small drops of blood ran from his nose. He produced his long, ebony wand with the dragonheartstring core and with a flick, the blood was gone.

"I cannot let you have Harry!" Albus stated. "These tattoos, your... affiliation with dark creatures... I will not give the son of James and Lily into the hands of a dark wizard."

 _'Alright you old and senile prick. Off with the gloves it is then.'_ Aurelius thought bitter. He had hoped to get the confrontation with the headmaster over in a quick fashion. But the old fool stood true to his ways, even now. He had seen three things, Aurelius recalled. How convenient that he seemed to remember only two of them.

"Daedalus. I need you here, mate." Aurelius shouted into empty space. A ball of flames erupted in mid air and from it, a beautiful song emerged, cleansing the room it filled. The ball formed into a bird and then, singing happily, Aurelius' phoenix flew across the room. One long curve in the infirmary later he landed on his companions, not owners, shoulders. "Albus Dumbledore here was just asking about how evil and malevolent I am. What's your opinion on that?"

A screech and a trill, meaning something along the line of 'Are you serious?' came as an answer.

McGonagall was staring the headmaster down with a threatening glare. "That is exactly what I have told you Albus! The man owns..."

"I don't own him." Aurelius interrupted.

"Whatever! A phoenix sits on his shoulders. How could he ever be a dark wizard?"

"I have seen him with a lamia! A lamia, Minerva! And he has these marks. Shamanic, no doubt! What if he gets Harry into contact with these things?" Albus countered.

Aurelius was about to shout back at the headmaster, but two furious elderly women beat him to it.

"What were you even doing 'Seeing' anything?" Pomfrey shouted.

"Legilimency, Albus? Are you going insane?" Minerva added, her voice trembling in fury. "He is the last adult Potter and I will not let you mess around with his head! He will be the guardian of Harry!"

"Minerva, be reasonable!"

It was Aurelius time to speak up."The lamia do not feed on little human boys, or whatever you fear, Dumbledore. Quite the contrary. I'm sure if I left Harry with the spartan tribes, I would get him back spoiled rotten. And yes, I do practice a variety of shamanistic rituals, but none of them are harmful. Once again, quite the contrary. I found shamanism to be rather powerful healing magic." Aurelius then turned to McGonagall, his eyes meeting her furious ones and soothed her with a smile. "I do intend to show the little guy all these wonders. I have seen much beauty in this world and I shall share it with him."

"Thats all I hoped for, Mr. Potter." Minerva said, her anger slowly going over in a small smile.

"Now, can I finally see him?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Follow me!" Madam Pomfrey said quickly before Dumbledore could interrupt the procedure once more. "He's just over there."

Completely ignoring the headmaster, Pomfrey strutted through the room with purpose and stopped in front of a white crib, hidden behind curtains. She waved her wand several times, no doubt to break several wards around the crib. With utmost care and something akin to motherly affection she lifted a small body from the crib.

Aurelius stood just a few meters behind her. She turned around, the toddler pressed against her chest and showed Harry to Aurelius.

"He looks... exactly like him." Aurelius breathed. He shook his head in disbelief and tried to wrap his head around the fact that James had a baby boy. He had seen his cousin the last time when he left the family. James had been twelve then. To think that the little, black-haired dervish had married and fathered a son... its was a lot to take in. "But the eyes... no Potter ever had eyes like that."

"Thats because they're from the Evans line, no doubt." Poppy Pomfrey explained. "Lily had the most beautiful green eyes."

Aurelius just nodded. He had never really met Lily Potter. He only remembered a quirky, red-haired girl that begged him to show her some advanced Charms. He didn't remember a face or how her voice sounded. It was just her curiosity and magical ability that stayed in his mind as a memory of Lily.

"Can I hold him?" Aurelius asked silently.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey offered the boy to the young man before her. Aurelius took him, careful not to hurt the boy. He was so fragile and small, Aurelius feared he would break a limb with a wrong move.

When the boy was pressed against his chest, realization dawned upon Aurelius. He had to take care of this little squealing, giggling baby that smiled at him with curious eyes. ' _Why did I agree to do this, again? Geez, I can't take care of a baby, I can't even take care of myself. What am I doing?'_

Aurelius was about to loose control over his thoughts. On letter it had all sounded so easy and it was so far away. It were just words telling him he had a infant nephew and that he was needed to perform fatherly duties for the boy. Now, he held a child in his arm that he was responsible for and his breathing became faster with every implication that brought.

Daedalus trilled in his ear, his phoenix voice soothing Aurelius worries. The phoenix laughed at his silly human and his trademark way of never thinking about consequences, always following his heart. It was, after all, why he chose him. His laugh eased his humans mind, cleared away fear and doubt and left Aurelius with the facts and encouragement. ' _You can do this, I'm with you.'_

"Thanks, mate. I needed that."

"Its overwhelming, isn't it?" Pomfrey asked softly.

"It really is. Its going to be a challenge." Aurelius answered slowly. "We'll manage," he added.

I I I

Poppy Pomfrey made sure that Aurelius had everything he needed to manage Harry while settling in at his new home. Starting from a small warehouse worth of diapers, babypowder and potions for infants to a variety of tips and tricks for the new single-father. It took an hour until the Matron was finally satisfied enough to let him go.

Once again, Minerva McGonagall walked beside him. The utilities were safely shrunk and in his cargo pants pockets. His nephew was tucked in a tight bun of linen, charmed with warming charms and tucked away in Aurelius' protective arms.

He just hoped Harry could hold his stomach. Otherwise he feared the worst for his leather jacket.

"Have you been to Sparrow Port, Professor?" he asked when they reached the edge of the wards.

"Yes, I have. Apparate away, I'm right behind you."

CAPTAIN POTTER - ATTEMPT 2

Harry sat silently at the Gryffindor table, pondering about his life and especially the last 4 years of it. Before that, the verdict was an easy one to make. Everyone was guilty, himself included. Dumbledore could have pulled him out of his misery at the Dursleys. McGonagall could have done something along those lines as well. The Dursleys could have been just decent human beings by showing him, if not love, then at least respect.

Harry shook his head, freeing him from thoughts of his early childhood. It was in the past and while he would never forget, also never completely forgive, he could live with it. Things had been looking up. He knew he could deal with this on his own, through his friends... or friend. He wasn't sure how he stood to Ron right now.

True, when the red-haired boy saw Harry fly against a dragon, he realized that no sane soul would want anything to do with being a champion. Dots connected, finally, and the youngest Weasley boy begged Harry's forgiveness.

He shook his head again. Ron hadn't quite begged his forgiveness. He more or less assumed that believing Harry now would do away with everything bad between them. Harry wouldn't demand more. He graved another friend, more than anything. The only one he had right now was Hermione, but there were things on Harry's mind that he couldn't discuss with her. Girl related things that would just make her blow up on him.

Anyway, it wasn't like he had time for a girlfriend right now. He was a Triwizard Champion and an underaged one to boot. He was constantly looking for ways to survive and Harry was sure that no girl would appreciate being left alone for hours because he had a date with the library. No, his love-life had to come to a halt.

 _But then again, why not go for it now?_ he thought. Why wait for some monster to burn him alive, punch him to a pulp or trample him? Even after the dragon he wasn't sure if he could survive this. Everyone told him – now – that they had high hopes. Harry, however, just dreaded whatever they thought up for the second task. If they go all out in the first, importing dragons to fight, then what would they think up for the next one? Maybe wrestling with the Giant Squid? Classical boxing with a troll?

A familiar, traitorous voice whispered softly that he would die in this tournament. He had barely survived the dragon. He would die to whatever was to come next if this tournament progressed like any other, from easy to hard.

Harry sighed as another thought accompanied the small hope that he maybe had a chance. Yes, maybe he would survive this. He had survived fighting a basilik against all odds. He had killed a man possessed by Voldemort. He had escaped an entire acromantula nests appetite, not to mention the small horde of dementors. All in all, he was pretty tenacious.

But even if he survived everything, he would just be shipped back to the Dursleys. Sirius was still on the run and the Weasley wouldn't be able to collect him until Harry had charged these blood wards Dumbledore had told him about. He would be left alone to cope with whatever this year threw at him. This solitude every year, it nearly killed him. Harry knew that he was strong and needed close to no one when it came to coping with his fate in life. But a bit more than a pat on the shoulder and hollow words that roughly translated to "there, there" would have been, and would be, nice.

His thoughts made him produce the small note from his pocket that McGonagall had given him yesterday. The stern teacher had been quite out of character when she approached him after dinner. She had been secretive, looking left and right before she spoke and her voice was just little more than a whisper. "Meet me tomorrow, 9 am, in my office." she had said while handing him the note.

With a frown on his face he looked at it again. It was a quickly written note and unusually sloppy for McGonagall. The woman had a fine way of writing, so whatever was to come, excited or scared her greatly.

 _Mr. Potter, I have found you an option for your summer. I believe you will be happy to take up the offer. Tomorrow, 9am, my office_

 _McGonagall_

Harry just shrugged when he read it again. The text was so vague, it could mean anything. But before he could finish his thought, Ron sat down, loaded up his plate and began to speak with excitement in his voice.

"Hey, mate. Have you seen? There's another ship next to the Durmstrang one. Easily thrice the size. Fred and George said that it appeared last night. Has some mean looking people on it, they say."

"Mean looking people?" Harry inquired. He was sure that Dumbledore would politely hex anyone off the grounds who would mean the students harm.

"Imagine Aurors, just with mountains of muscle. They're all wizards or witches or magical creatures, but they also have these gons... these muggle shooting thingys..."

"Guns?" Harry offered.

"Exactly. They carry them with them on their hip." Ron finished, his voice betraying how ridiculous he thought that was.

Harry frowned when he thought that Fred and George are probably just pranking their brother again. "How do you even know that?"

"I went and looked at it?" Ron countered. "Just like almost the entire school?" he finished with a gesture around the Great Hall.

Harry looked around and his eyebrows went up when he saw that there wasn't even a tenth of the students of Hogwarts sitting in the Hall. A look on his watch told him that it was nearly nine. The students should already be swarming the Hall to get breakfast.

Also, Harry realized with a start, he should already be on is way to McGonagall. "Sorry, Ron. But I gotta go. McGonagall wants to talk to me about something."

"About what? Its Saturday. She ought to leave us alone on weekends." Ron said.

"Not sure, but it seemed to be important. Probably..." Harry stopped in his sentence. He still didn't trust Ron, even if he wanted to. "Probably something about the tournament. I'll see you later."

With that he ran through the corridors and up the staircase to the office of his Head of House. The castle was empty and Harry could see why through the windows. Ron didn't lie. There was a huge, three mast sailing ship right next to the Durmstrang ship. Next to it, the ship where Victor Krum slept in appeared like a small boat. Harry could see some people walking around the deck of the huge sailing ship and even from far away, there was a pattern to see. The people on it walked with purpose and in straight, direct lines. The way these people walked fitted the, at least, hundred cannons looking out from the ship on each side.

Harry tore himself from the view and walked the last corner to the office. He knocked politely and waited for the voice of McGonagall to ask him in. Sure enough, it came almost immediately and Harry pushed open the door.

Inside the comfy office, decorated in a way that betrayed the Professors scottish heritage, with a hint of red and gold from time to time, he saw the Professor sitting behind her desk, talking with some other woman, Harry didn't recognize.

"Mr. Potter, right on time. Please take a seat." McGonagall said, a cheer in her voice. Even if it had a nice ring to it, that tone, Harry decided that coming from the Professor it was a bit out of place.

He took a seat next to the woman and shot her a quick glance. She was a beautiful witch, middle-aged, but Harry knew that for witches and wizards, that was no real measurement. Her hair was black and her eyes were of a striking, sky-blue. She was clad in robes that roughly resembled an Admirals uniform. On her hip hung a sabre in a richly decorated sheath and within her robes, wrung around her torso, Harry could see a pistol holster. She had tattoos on her neck and hands and just five stripes tattooed under her right eye. In combination with the trinkets and golden chains worked into her dreadlocked hair, she looked a lot like the pirates he knew from Dudleys TV-series. Harry smiled at her and to his great surprise, a bright smile came back to him.

"Mr. Potter. I hope my note wasn't too cryptic." McGonagall began. "But I assure you that it was necessary to keep this in a need-to-know circle as long as possible." McGonagall stood up, her face still smiling and with a gesture to the woman she said. "I am happy to introduce to you, someone most people thought dead. Harry, this is your aunt, Persephone Aurelia Potter."

"Its nice to finally meet you, Harry." the woman said, her smile bright and cheerful.

It stood in a stark contrast to Harry's expression. It was dead neutral, as if his brain had just shut down. The information didn't register with him. Aunt? He had no aunt, safe for aunt Petunia. There is no Potter family left, Dumbledore had said so, didn't he?

"You're joking right?" was all he could say.

McGonagall scowled at that, while Persephone had to stiffle a chuckle.

"It most certainly is not a joke, Mr. Potter." McGonagall countered.

"Then why now?" he exploded. "Why now and not, lets say, thirteen years ago? What the hell?"

The only answer he got was two newspapers thrown into his lap. Harry quickly saw that it was the edition of the Daily Prophet with the title-story of the Triwizard Torunament. He saw his own portrait. The second newspaper was one Harry had never seen before. It called itself the 'Carribean Courier' and its title story was about some voodoo priestess being imprisoned. As he scanned the paper a bit longer, he saw a small textbox at the end of the frontpage reading "European School Triumvirat reinstalls Triwizard Torunament. Barbaric old tradition or valuable part of european culture? Page 3".

Harry quickly skipped to the page and saw himself with the three other competitors. He wasn't singled out, even barely mentioned once or twice in the article that basically called european wizards backwards thinking dunderheads for letting children participate in challenges grown wizards had just low chances of surviving. Harry fully agreed, but just stored this information in his head for later.

"So? What should this tell me?"

"The date on the newspaper. Its the date I found out I had a nephew." Persephone said with some sadness in her voice. She had lost her smile and instead looked at him with a haunted look.

"Why?" was the only question on harry'S mind.

"I turned my back on the family long before you were born. By the time the little bookworm..." she grinned at McGonagall, who looked back with a amused frown. "...gave birth to you, I was already sailing the seven seas, with no contact to my parents, your grandparents or my cousin and his wife."

Harry stood up, his hands on his head. This was way more than he expected and it nearly gave him a headache to think about it. "The note the Professor gave me said something about summer options. I suppose..."

Persephone stood up as well, her figure tall, beautiful and imposing, and she walked towards Harry. When she stood at arms-length to him, she smiled at him and it made Harry feel some kind of warmth. "Minerva told me about your summer residence and the people you have to call family." her face grew angry at that. "I have broken a lot of promises to myself coming here, but I think its worth it. I want to offer you the option of coming with me this summer. Get away from Britain for the time of your vacation. I understand if you want to stay here, of course, I mean, your friends are here and I understand that you are often at their house. I just wanted..."

"I'm coming." Harry blurted out. He still wasn't sure about this woman who claimed to be his family. But McGonagall seemed to trust her, so Harry had no doubt that he was in no danger. "Where are we going?"

The haunted look on Persephone immediately vanished, making way for the bright smile the woman gifted to Harry. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "We're sailing along the african coast, with stops in Sierra Leone, Ghana, Angola and South Africa. Then we'll sail across the Indian Ocean to Pakistan, then along the coast to Kuwait, Quatar, and finally Egypt where we'll take the canal to the Middle Sea. From there on out its going to be your call."

CAPTAIN POTTER - ATTEMPT 3

No clouds could be seen, the sun shone as bright and hot as ever and the soft waves gently moved the sand under Captain Aurelius Potter's feet. For strangers he would look as unwavery and proud as ever. He was, after all, Captain of the great battleship, Calypso. Feared among the slavers, scoundrels and dark wizards of the Carribean. Revered for his acute sense of justice, his firm hand and quick judgement and the many legends that had formed around his person. To boot, he was a awe inspiring wizard, bested by only the most powerful warlocks and voodoo priests.

No, those who did not know him would think that there was nothing plaguing the thoughts of the great Captain as he looked across the Atlantic, fixated on a point on the horizon that marked the general direction to Britain.

However, the woman standing behind him knew the Captain. First Officer and voodoo priestess Jona Laveau had served under him for ten years now. From the day the Captain had first searched for a crew in a shabby bar in New Orleans until this day, when he finally began to enjoy the riches they had gathered on Trinidad. Crews had come and gone, but Jona stayed.

It had begun when the Captain received a letter, carried by an european owl. His features had been iron as ever while he read the fine script on the typical parchment the people in the old world still used. But Jona had seen Aurelius Potter's grip tightening, his eyes narrowing and the way his jaw shut even tighter.

Whatever the Captain read, it deeply disturbed him. Enough to leave during breakfast, only the letter in hand. Laveau knew the Captain well and so she found him, as expected, on his private beach, in front of his huge bungalow, his toes digging into the wet sand and his eyes staring out onto the ocean.

"The Captain Potter has something on his mind, I'm sure." she said with her raspy voice, gained through too much rum and tobacco.

There came no answer back. Aurelius just handed Jona the letter, ordering her to read. Jona took it without hesitation. She would've asked anyway. Anything the Captain found troubling was worth more than one look.

At the first look, Jona saw the fine script that made up the text. It was, however, sometimes shaky and frazzled, with a few circular drops on the parchment, distorting the ink from time to time. Someone had cried on it, and someone was either furious or desperate when he wrote it.

 _To Aurelius Potter_

 _Mr. Potter, I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirit. My name is Remus Lupin. I was a classmate and friend of your cousin, James Potter and have attended Hogwarts as a first year when you were in your last._

 _The reason for contacting you is dire and I hope that you may be able to help. Maybe you already know, but in case you don't, I have to tell you that James Potter as well as his wife, Lily Potter are dead. They were murdered by Lord Voldemort. If you are still alive, you are the last adult Potter in the world. As such, you are the last magical relative of James and Lily's son, Harry James Potter. He is currently living at his muggle relatives house, but I have a hard time calling it living. He suffers under their hate of magic and there is nothing anyone can do._

 _I beg of you. You are the last person on this earth that can take him in and grant him the childhood he deserves. I know that James has always looked up to you, even after you have left the family. He admired you for you courage to stand up for what is right. Leaving Harry at the mercy of people that hate him, make his life a living hell, is not right._

 _For the time being, Albus Dumbledore is his magical guardian. He keeps saying that the boy is alright, but I have seen the contrary with my own eyes. He suffers. Harry is five years old by now and by the looks of it, he isn't allowed to play, to explore – in short, to be a child._

 _Once again, I beg you, help him. You are the last one that has any legal right to free him from this place and give him a loving home._

 _I hope I haven't written this to nobody. My greatest fear is that you are dead as well and that Harry is forced to live out his childhood deprived of any kind of compassion and love. I pray to all gods there are that you receive this letter and find it in your heart to help your nephew._

 _You can contact me, using the owl I have sent this letter with._

 _With the best wishes and hope,_

 _Remus Lupin._

"So, when are we going to get the boy?" Jona asked after she finished the letter.

"What makes you think I'll get him?" the Captain asked in his normal, stern tone.

"Oh, please. I know your sorry ass for over ten years now. You decided to get the boy the moment you read of his existence."

Aurelius' eyes kept looking in the distance, but the smile that slowly crept onto his face made all sternness and every bit of iron melt away from him. "Ready the ship. Set sail for Potters Port in five hours."

I I I

"Freak!"

Vernon Dursley, middle-aged man, working in middle management in a middle sized company within a middle sized city loved to be normal. His entire life was built on the fact that being normal makes him better than the majority of people. The majority was, in his mind, criminals, hooligans and stinking, good-for-nothing liberals that run the country down and steal his money. He despised them for having the gall to be different. He hated them for living an easier life than him, for earning more money than him and for doing all that in front of him.

But more than anything, more even than punks and beggars, he hated magic. He hated the illusionists for faking it. He hated Special Effects for calling themselves 'movie-magic'. He hated the mere concept of magic with a white burning rage in his heart. A rage that repeatedly targets the one thing in his life that constantly reminds him that magic existed.

Harry Potter, or as Vernon called him, Freak. His wife's nephew and the bane of his existence.

"FREAK!" he shouted again. It didn't take long for small steps to be heard from the first floor. Small steps coming from small feet that were still too weak to carry around full trashbins or paint the house. Utterly useless small feet on an utterly useless body, combined with an utterly useless character.

At least his scoundrels of parents had left their bank an order to pay them a monthly tuition for the boy. Otherwise, Vernon would've thrown him out like the rest of the trash.

When Harry heard his Uncle call for him, he barely contained his tears. He wasn't done with the bathroom, had still so many tiles to clean, most of them he couldn't even reach properly. His Uncle would be furious with him, no matter how hard Harry had tried. He stood still, paralysed by his fear and waited. Maybe his Uncle was yelling at someone or something else?

"FREAK!"

No, he really meant him, Harry realized. A single tear ran down his cheeks and he was quick to get it off. Crying always got him into trouble. Uncle Vernon hated it and always threatened him with punches and whips with his belt.

He ran along the small hallway, fast enough to get to his Uncle in seconds, but slow enough to immediately break into a walk should his Aunt come out of her room. She hated running. When Harry thought about it, she hated almost everything Harry did.

His fast steps carried him down the creaking stairs that led over his bed in the cupboard. With just a few more steps he stood in front of a fuming Uncle Vernon and had to fight against the tears once more. His uncles head was red with rage and his eyes had the murderous glint they always had before Harry got punished.

"Are you done with the bath, freak?" he shouted out, spit flying around.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Ver..."

"So you're not done! You lazy, good for nothing freak!" he roared. "And don't you bloody cry! You have no right to cry!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry whispered.

Harry wanted to run, hide and let the rage of his uncle hit something else, but the expression on his face nailed Harry to the floor. It was sheer malice and hatred. "I don't know why I'm even putting up with you!" Vernon sighed overly dramatic while he tried to reign in his emotions. "We'll have guests later and I need the house to look perfect. Get the supplies and clean the hallway. And when you're finished with that, you'll finish the bathroom. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." he said and quickly stormed off to get the supplies.

Minutes later he was scrubbing the tiles of the hallway. They were full of dirt and pebbles and Harry felt the grime hurt on his hands. The cleaner he used was highly acidic and was effective on almost all stains. But Uncle Vernon kept forgetting to buy rubber gloves, even though Harry had often shown him how damaged his hands got from it. It hurt and it would hurt for days.

Harry felt the eyes of his Uncle on him, watching every scrub and every move. Harry tried to be effective, fast and made sure that there was no stain left behind. Uncle Vernon hated lazy people, Harry knew. And scrubbing an already clean surface was lazy, his Uncle had told him.

In the next moment, the door crashed open and Harry's cousin, Dudley Dursley ran in. He body-checked Harry, making him fall head first against the wall of the narrow hallway. Dudley laughed dumbly, threw his boots onto the racks and then up the stairs, probably to play one of his computer games Harry envied so much.

But there was no time for dreaming, especially not about videogames. Dudley had dirtied the hallway again with big splashes of dirt. Harry felt the eyes of Vernon on him and started at the very front of the hallway, again.

There came no snark remarks, no insults and no punches from his Uncle, so Harry dared to look over his shoulders, just to see that Vernon was gone. He sighed silently in relief and continued scrubbing he floor with just a bit less devotion. The task still needed to be done, no matter if his uncle watched or not, but at least his eyes didn't bore into his neck anymore.

He was halfway through the hallway and his hands were already red like the shell of a crab. They hurt from the acids and were swollen from the dirt infecting the sore skin. It made Harry tear up again. He tried to suppress it, to keep his pain down like a good boy, but failed. Big drops of salty tears ran down his cheeks and with them came silent sobs.

"Dad! Harry is crying again!" came the whine from upstairs, followed up by a cruel laugh.

In an instant, Vernon Dursley stormed into the hallway, face red in anger, the coming shout already on his lips as he turned the corner. "SCRUB THE FLOOR AND SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU USELESS FREAK!"

Harry tried, he really did, but he couldn't stop. His hands burned like fire and his nails felt like they were about to fall out. "I can't, uncle..."

"YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME?!" Vernon didn't even finish his shouting when the belt holding his pants in place were already out and ready. Long, heavy steps carried him to the boy. The meager, weak, dirty, always whining, always begging, always demanding boy who did nothing for him and only took. Who kept him from concentrating on his own boy. The little freak that was bound to end up dirtying their name.

His hand raised high and with a purpose he whipped the back of the crying boy. The sound of the slap as the thick leather beat sense into the boy was soothing for Vernon. The little shit got what he deserved. Another whip and the boy was lying on the floor, whimpering like the weakling he was.

Vernon raised his hand for another strike. His hands were up high when, suddenly, the doorbell rang. Vernon froze in confusion. His guests weren't due until evening. But in any case, he had to stop the punishment and get the boy out of sight. "Get into your room and shut up. If you don't, you'll get another round!"

Harry cleaned his face with a fast stroke of his hands and then fled to his bed under the stairs. He crawled into a corner, took his pillow and pressed his face into it. It muffled the noises he made and shut the world out from his sight. He thanked whoever was at the door for making his uncle stop. His back hurt, just as much but different than the hands. They still burnt and touching the pillow sent another shockwave of pain through him. He didn't care, he just held it close to his face and let the pain numb his senses.

Vernon put his belt back on and shut the door of the cupboard. With quick, experienced hands he locked it. "Probably some bible-thumpers. Beggars. Disturbing me..." he mumbled angrily while walking towards the door. The doorbell rang again, this time longer. "I'm coming!" he shouted at it. He reigned in his rage. It wouldn't do to let neighbours see him like this. He took a calming breathe, masked himself with a fake smile and then opened the door.

Vernon froze in place when he saw who stood before him.

"I'm Captain Aurelius Potter. This is Remus Lupin and First Officer Jona Laveau. We have much to talk about."

With a dumb gaze Vernon stared back into pure, cold steel in the form of grey eyes. The man before him was easily two heads taller than him and his hard-edged face was that of a warrior. His black hair was long and bound together by ribbons at the back of his head, its colour matching the expensive looking outfit of the man that roughly resembled the uniforms of the old british navy. Behind him stood a man, clad in ragged robes with a gaunt face and concerned looking eyes. Next to him was a black woman with tattoos all over her face and the outfit of a sailor. She had a smug grin on her face that mocked Vernon's surprise.

It took a few moments until Vernon's mind made sense of the scene and, most importantly, the name.

"POTTER?!"

"Aye, Mr. Dursley." Aurelius answered, his tone neutral despite the venom in the fat man's voice. He took a step towards Vernon and towered over him. The small man was an eyesore for the Captain. The whole neighbourhood reeked of self-important, middle-class gits and Vernon Dursely was the very epitome of how the Captain imagined these people. "I have come to collect my nephew. Where is he?"

The dots connected in Vernon's head and he was about to unleash his rage there and then. However, when he saw a nosey neighbour peeking through the curtains, he quickly backed off.

Showing no obvious reaction, Aurelius let himself in and walked straight to the living room, Remus Lupin and Jona Laveau right behind him.

The door slammed shut and a fuming Vernon Dursley, now finally free of social rules, began to blurt out his anger. "FIVE YEARS! Almost FIVE YEARS I had to feed the little fr..."

"Enough!" Aurelius commanded.

"You dare speak to me like that in my..."

"I said enough!" came the command again, louder and with a threatening undertone this time. "I have no time to listen to whatever comes from your mouth. I have come here to get Harry. Where is he?"

"You have no right..."

"I have every right. Show him the documents, Lupin."

As commanded, Remus stood up and held several pieces of parchment towards Vernon. The fat man ignored them completely, his head red from the rage that boiled up within. However, Vernon Dursley was a coward at heart and the man before him scared him to the bone.

Steps came from the stairway and a few seconds later, Petunia Dursley came into the living room. She promptly stopped at the threshold. Her eyes were wide in shock when she took in the image before her. "Vernon? Who are these people?" she pressed out.

Aurelius didn't give Vernon the opportunity to answer. "I am Captain Aurelius Potter and this is my First Officer, Jona Laveau and the man next to her is Remus Lupin. We came to get Harry."

"Why now?" Vernon blurted out. "What took you so long? We don't want him, never did!"

"Then I see no problem here. Bring him and we shall get this over with."


	5. Sirius x Bellatrix

**This is an idea I had flying around my head, which kept me from writing all of those words for either other fanfictions or my own, original projects. Anyway, its done and I guess somewhat readable even without a thorough edit. Maybe someone thinks its a fun read, or even better, someone wants to continue it. If you find yourself thinking "I really want to write this story", PM me and I send you everything I got on it. Personally, I'm done with it and glad about it.** 2\. May 1998

Green was the last thing Harry saw. All his other senses seemed to have shut down. He didn't hear the humorless laugh of Voldemort or the sadistic cackle of Lestrange. He didn't feel the floor on his feet nor the breeze on his skin. He didn't smell the raisin on the trees or the husky aroma of the needles and leafs.

All he saw was the green of the Killing Curse.

Then there was nothing.

xxx

"Wake up, Harry Potter." he heard someone say. "Wake up, face me."

Harry slowly opened his eyes. He stared up through trees towards a sky so clear that he could make out the nebulas of the galaxy, every star and every constellation. It seemed as if there was no more barrier of air between him and the universe. Infinity was at arm's length, ready to grasp.

He let his eyes roam around. The forest he lay in was not the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't dark and dreary, there were no threats around each trunk and bush. It was serene, calming, welcoming.

Then he heard a rustling from the trees. He shot up, looked around and gasped. His breath was stolen from him as he saw who walked through the trees into the clearing. It was a great figure, clad in black robes with a hood that hung low over its face. It seemed to glide over the floor. It made no sound for its feet were not there, but instead there was smoke in which its entire form flowed. In its hands it held a small form, wrapped in linen. The bundle was caressed and with hollow voice the figure cooed softly to it.

"Who are you?" Harry managed to say.

The figure slowly faced him and nothing but the same infinity stared back at Harry. Stars, galaxies - the universe hid below the robe. Its voice seemed to come from a hundred places as it answered. "I am Death."

"Death?" Harry repeated. Somehow a great weight fell from him. He had known he would die, but still he had been filled with doubt. Would there even be something afterwards? Would it hurt, in the next world? What would he find? To see that there was something was soothing his heart.

"They tell me it is a good feeling, those who doubt, to see me." Death said as if he could read Harry's thoughts. "But some find themselves disappointed, but then for most I also do not speak, I do not judge, I do not weigh, I do not meddle. For you, Harry Potter, this will be different."

"What do you mean? Why is it different?"

Death moved the bundle away from him and loosened some of the linen around it. What Harry then saw made him gasp. It looked like a child, but not. It was beaten, bruised, abused and flogged. A pityful thing of ugly looks and sickly constitution. "What is it?" Harry asked.

"Who is it, you mean." Death corrected. "This is Voldemort. This is the part of the Abomination you brought me personally. Many came before, two still waiting, but those will be cared for. More of my Champions roam this Earth. The Defiler will not escape my grasp, nobody ever does forever."

"What will happen to him?"

Death waited with his answer. He held the line-bundle closer again, softly stroking the soul-piece like a mother would caress a child. "He will be made whole again before I let him embrace me."

Harry frowned. "There is no punishment for him?"

"Punishment?" Death slowly shook his head. "I do not know."

"But you're Death!"

"Does the front of a door know what the room behind it holds? I am but a gateway to whatever comes next. I am a creature of this cosmos, so I too stand banned from the knowledge of what is beyond it." He caressed Voldemort's soul piece again. "I also am a guardian. One with power unparalleled by anything in this cosmos, free of the enslavement of time, matter or energy. I am the one who grants boons for those who prove themselves worthy. You are such a man, Harry Potter. You shall be granted a gift. Death's Gift."

Harry stood there, paralyzed by the thought. What would he be able to wish for? He had enough of Elder Wands, Resurrection Stones and Invisibility Cloaks. He didn't need anything. He wanted one thing and one thing only. He wanted Peace.

"A noble wish." Death nodded. "Peace it shall be then. But how?"

Harry laughed. "You tell me. I'm new to this."

To his great surprise Death chuckled too. It was a creepy sound, with the low and dark voices from a hundred mouths. "True, Harry Potter. I present to you now two ways. One is safe, one comes with risk. One gives you but peace as the absence of violence. One may grant you peace in its truest and purest form, with love and compassion as steady companions." Death then glided closer to Harry while he let spreading roots and bushes take the small form of the soul splitter. "Let me show you." he said and with a wave of a skeletal, black hand he conjured a pensieve that floated between the two.

"One option," he said and waved over the surface of the pensieve. "is to go back. Stand up and fight again. You will always feel the weight of your life on you. Never again will you feel clean, pure of heart. But it will be over, if you do the right things. The Defiler will be dead."

"And the second option?" Harry figured it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"The second choice is more complex. You get one interference. One single interference that you may use anywhen from the beginning of your life to now. One time you may take over someones muscles and mind, make someone say something or remain silent, make someone trip or steady them when they fall. You must choose wisely."

Harry let that sink in for a moment. The first thought, funnily enough, was a technical one. "Are you saying I could push Draco into Buckbeak's swipe?"

Death chuckled again and it made Harry's skin get goosebumps. "Yes, you could." Harry had to smile at what he thought was Death shrugging. "My recommendation with these things, however, is to look closer. The right moment is often somewhere least expected."

"Will you help me?"

"Yes, I will."

"Then tell me. What can I do to make this all… not happen?"

Death gazed at Harry with his face of stars and galaxies. "Love. It is a strong motivator, manipulator and convincer. It is a constant of life throughout the universe. Missed Love can hurt more than a thousand blades. Broken hearts break Empires and lead minds astray to darker paths."

Harry just raised an eyebrow.

"Sirius Black. Two months before the night of Halloween 1981." Death seemed to be reluctant to say more.

"Then what am I to do? What do I do to make whatever he did, right?"

"Tell him to trust his heart. Despite all, he must trust his heart."

"And that will make it all good? It will bring peace to all?"

"It will bring peace to many, not all. Lives will be changed, souls may not find the same bodies anymore, others may die. But the chances for your peace are high."

Harry did not see himself as a gambling man. He liked when something was iron-clad, even though, or probably because, it mostly wasn't the case in his life. He played the predictable strategies in chess and in Exploding Snap he never held on one card too long. When he could choose he liked the sureshots.

"So why am I thinking about this?" he asked Death.

"Because so many have already felt my embrace? Because there is a chance for you to redo it all? Harry Potter, you may not be a gambling man, but you see chances when they are presented to you. So what will it be?"

Harry swallowed, he took a deep breath and then, with closed eyes, he said. "Option 2. I take option 2."

Once again Death chuckled. He raised his hands and from them small trails of black smoke came. "I hoped you would say that. Prepare yourself Harry Potter, for a new life, a new chance and new opportunities."

Then, without warning, Harry felt as if he was suffocating. He fell through a dark hole, deep through an abyssal darkness until eventually, his sense got overwhelmed, his mind went blank and he lost consciousness.

xxx

25\. July 1981

Sirius Black stood still like a stone in the abandoned Halls of Black Castle. He had dug deep inside its intestines, in the dungeons of the oldest of the Black homes, in search for magic, secrets and weapons to use in the fight against the Dark Lord.

It had been five years now since he left Hogwarts. Five years of grueling fights, guerilla tactics, duels and battles. Five years of Death. It was a fight against an behemoth, an ancient, almost unkillable doctrine and one powerful mage who spearheaded it all.

The Order hoped that magic just as ancient, just as profound and as sacred as the enemy was desecrating, would be a solution. That was why he roamed the old Black houses. Once they had been places of community. They had been forums of magic. The fest hall of Black Castle had even been used to host the Wizengamot for a good century during the middle ages. Yes, his family was rich with history, a fact in which he still took pride in. It was but a shame that the youngest generations let hate and violence dictate their behavior. It was despicable, the doctrine they followed, the words they used, the brutality they condoned.

He had found nothing, again. The Blacks had long since abandoned the buildings and despite Sirius' uncanny ability to find corridors and rooms that weren't supposed to be found, he still got nothing. So he had left the dungeons and went back into the Entrance Hall, eager to leave the dreary Castle, apparate to Godric's Hollow and spoil his godson rotten.

But then he found himself still as a stone as he looked at the figure at the gates. She was only a silhouette, but the wild, untamed hair, the proud posture, the waist constricted by a corset and the dress flowing in the wind of the lush summer night. Bellatrix Lestrange.

It was only a moment that they both stood there, looking at each other. Like tigers they assessed each other, registered every twitch of their fingers. Then, just like two predators do, they sprung into action.

"FALX!" Sirius shouted as he made a big step to the right.

"CRUCIO!" Bellatrix shouted, mirroring his footsteps.

His cutter burst through stone walls, but missed. Her torture curse collided with bricks behind him. None of this mattered to them as they began to circle each other, blasting spells and casting shield.

"Avada Kedavra!" they both shouted, but neither of them got the Killing Curse to work. It didn't register with them - wasn't even a sidenote.

"BOMBARDA, FALX, OCCULADETRAS!" Sirius shouted and sent a fourth, silent Stupefy with his barrage.

Bellatrix shielded the onslaught, let the eyeball-melting curse pass over her head and dodged the Stunner, quickly returning in kind. "REDUCTO! KASINUTRIS!" she shouted and with two slashes of her wand she sent two Sectumsempra with them.

Sirius conjured a stone slab wall and banished it against the curses and Bellatrix, with one Bombarda right after it. The wall exploded into a thousand pieces and sprayed Bellatrix with debris. He sent another, silent Reducto into the debris.

"AAARRGH!" he heard from the dust just before he ducked from a bright violet curse. He needed a moment, but then it registered what curse that was. Her own, homebrewed one, Kronokis Abysmas.

Behind him, exactly at the point where the spell collided with the wall, a point began sucking stone, dust and debris into its core. It deformed the walls, made even the light bend, before it violently exploded, shooting Sirius forwards.

"Oh shi-" he got out before he crashed onto the floor. He jumped back up, only to see Bellatrix trying to do the same. She was slower as her leg was broken from the Reducto. He tried to curse her but his wand wasn't in his hand. Bellatrix, however, had hers and she was about to point it at him.

Not thinking, only acting, he jumped at her and bodychecked her against the opposite wall. She screamed in pain as he kicked his knee into the broken bone, but she didn't stop struggling. He grabbed her hand with the wand and slammed it against the wall, again and again until he felt her grip loosen, her hand break and heard the wand fall to the floor.

So they stood there. Sirius pressed her against the wall, his breath hard and fast. Bellatrix stared back at him, stoic and calm, as if she hadn't had her leg broken, as if her wand hand wasn't in broken pieces, as if she wasn't in pain.

"What now, Siri?" Bellatrix whispered. They were so close to each other that her breath moved his hair. He could see her violet eyes, every bit of its hypnotizing depths and every vein that was popped. He could see the red around the rim and the black under her eyes. She looked sick, weak and yet she was unbroken in her gaze and as proud and unwavering as ever. His body pressed against hers and he felt not those full curves she so proudly presented to the world in her seventh year, but ribs and her hip-bones.

"Death Eating doesn't agree with you, Bella." he whispered back. "Bad diet, Death."

"Funny. Thought of that yourself?" she hissed back. "So how do you wanna play this?"

"Maybe I'll just kill you." he growled. "End it right here and now. I only have to press in that throat of yours."

Bellatrix met his gaze. His eyes were wild and hers were so calm, so collected. His breath was fast and flat, hers was slow and deep.

"Do it, then." she said quietly. She never let her eyes waver. She dared him to do it with her gaze alone. Those eyes, those red-rimmed, black-shadowed, beautiful violet eyes were screaming at him to press her throat in.

Sirius wrapped a hand around her throat. He pressed but he softened his grip immediately. He looked down. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"Do it." she hissed at him. "Do it, you coward."

His breath was going so fast, air became hard to come by. He had his hand around her, his muscles were tensed, but he just couldn't press. He couldn't shove his body weight against her throat. He couldn't meet those goddamn eyes.

"You weak mongrel. Blood traitor scum." Her eyes burnt as she glared like all hellfire at him. "You are pathetic. Kill me already! DO IT! KILL ME YOU BASTARD!"

"SHUT UP!" he shouted back.

"YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU WANT TO BE A FIGHTER? FIGHT, THEN! KILL ME! I LOST! KILL ME!"

"SHUT UP!" Sirius shouted again. "Shut up, shut up, shut up." he stammered as he felt his eyes tear up.

"PATHETIC!" she screamed at him. "YOU ARE PATHETIC. YOU ALWAYS WERE PATHETIC. WHAT HOLD YOU BACK? I'M THE ENEMY! KILL ME! KI-"

It came to Sirius like a cold wave of iced water. It was as if some force much greater than him, for one moment, erased his past from his mind. All the weight, all the baggage was gone for one, single moment. Left was nothing but simple emotion. There was desire, passion, lust that made his body heat up, his mind freeze. And there was the one emotion he had tried to suppress, tried to ignore for so long. Ever since he could remember, he wanted this emotion to go away, but the more he pushed, the more it pushed back. The more he wanted it gone, the bigger and brighter it got. Love made his heart glow and nothing was left that could hold back the need that arose in him in that moment.

Without thinking he pressed his lips against Bellatrix'. In that moment there were no consequences, no stigma of society, no glares from James or Remus, no shame or apologies for his heart's desires.

She tasted like she had tasted at Black Tower, when they had both sat at the beach of the Shetland Isles, the stars above them, and shared their first kiss. Firewhiskey and lipstick. And just like the whiskey, this kiss burned them. With every move, with every opening and closing of his mouth he felt himself fall deeper into it. It was a relief - it made his heart jump in endless joy - when he felt her kiss back. Her kisses were like her soul. She was brutal, took whatever she wanted and when she bit his lip, she drew blood. She hung on those wounds, tasted his blood and then demanded entry into his mouth.

They molded together. Their bodies fused, one ended where the other began and they moved in unison, one guiding the other, pushing and fighting and pulling when the other just moved an inch away from the others body.

Bellatrix was the first who backed away from the kiss. She had her eyes closed, her mouth hung open as she glided her cheeks alongside Sirius' face. "Take me," she breathed into his ear. "Take me now, Sirius."

Not Bellatrix or Sirius stopped to think. She grabbed his belt and with a few quick moves of her fingers it was open. She felt he was already ready and pulled his trousers and his boxers off with one careless pull.

Sirius grabbed her dress and ripped on it. The fabric was strong, but he was a man possessed. The seams ripped and with it the fabric, soon giving him access. Her black, stringy underwear was done with a simple pull. He didn't wait, and she didn't want him to, before he entered.

"Bella," he moaned as she bit his shoulders. Her nails dug into his back, and her breath was frantic. It hitched with every thrust and she silenced her moans by biting and clawing.

"Come for me, Bella." Sirius whispered in her ears when he felt her body tighten, her muscles tensing. "I want you to be mine."

"Yes," she moaned "Yes, yes!"

Her body started to shiver, her legs cramped up and she whined when the broken bone rebelled against the contractions of her muscles. One more thrust and Sirius came. They kissed, hard and uncaring. Teeth grinded against teeth as they kissed with brutality that only they understood, only they needed and wanted. It felt real. True.

They sank to the floor, Bellatrix sitting on Sirius, wrapped around him in a death grip, her head hidden in his neck.

"I love you." Sirius whispered. "That is why I can't do it. I could never do it. Because I love you."

At his words she tensed up. Her movements were slow and deliberate. She leaned back from him, her violet eyes stormy with emotions so unreadable looking at him.

 _Slap_

The sound of her backhand against his cheek echoed through the Hall of the castle. When Sirius brought his head back to look at Bellatrix she already pushed herself off him. She glared, furious as a wildfire. Slowly she grabbed her wand from the floor.

She mulled over her words. Her jaw tightening and softening, her eyes and face changing from sadness, to anger to confusion.

"Too little, too late." she finally said. "Just too little, too late, Sirius." With that she grabbed her wand and with a pop, she vanished, leaving Sirius behind who could hear his heart breaking in the silence of the hall.

xxx

31\. October 1981

The night of Halloween was sacred among witches and wizards. It was when the souls of the dead were closest to the realm of the living. It was a night of great magic. It was the night the Dark Lord had chosen to rid himself of his last enemy, of the last bastion of hope. The One with the power to defeat him, born when the seventh month dies, would find his early end at his hands on this most holy night.

The Dark Lord stood before the House in Godric's Hollow. He savoured the feeling of knowing the secret of the Fidelius and knowing that the Potters had no idea. They felt safe from him, but he would teach them better. Nobody was safe from Lord Voldemort.

With long steps he strolled into the garden. The crunch of gravel under his boots was music to his ears. The pathway he didn't even know existed just ten hours ago was now visible and walkable. He enjoyed every footfall until he finally came to the front of the small, but obviously luxurious cottage. He took a deep breath and then, with a flick of his wand, he made the door shatter into a million pieces.

The first he saw was James Potter, wand in hand, in the process of coming down the stairs. He aimed at him and without a word, the green Killing Curse shot at the young wizard.

"HE'S HERE! TAKE HARRY!" James shouted. "REDUCTO!" Potter shouted.

Voldemort lazily blocked the curse and also the silent cutter curse that came afterwards. He was annoyed when James retreated upstairs. He so hated positioning fights, it reminded him of muggle warfare, but alas.

"There is no escaping, James Potter." he said while ascending the stairs. He waved the spells thrown at him away as if they were nothing. Strong curses, brutal curses and some even bordering on such Arts as Necromancy came from James Potter's wand. It was impressive, no doubt, but Voldemort soon grew tired.

 _Sama aim Amik_ he formulated in his mind and with a dull thump, space randomly compressed and expanded around James Potter until it shook up into a massive explosion that broke away the wizard as well as the room behind him.

Voldemort just followed his ears to find his target. Lily Potter, the annoyingly brilliant mudblood, antithesis to all of his doctrine, was sobbing and chanting something in a room at the end of the corridor. Taking his time Voldemort wandered down there over the slightly charred rug.

The room he entered was the little boy's room, no doubt. Stuffed animals, bright colors and happy pictures made up the walls. In its middle stood a crib and before it, Lily Potter.

She was on her knees, holding her child behind her, as if her body would keep him safe. At least, Voldemort thought, she harbored no illusions of fighting him. But for all the trouble she had created he wanted to see her suffer. She would watch her child die and then succumb to the torture of his Death Eaters.

"Step away from the child and I shall spare your life." he lied.

"No!" Lily Potter screamed. "Don't hurt him, take me."

"I don't want you, girl. Step away from the child. Now!"

"No, I will never!" she shouted back.

It didn't matter anyway, so Voldemort rose his wand and pointed it at the witch with the famous auburn hair. "Avada KedaAAAARGH!" he shouted through splatters and the sound of a potion exploding.

He slowly looked down on his body. There was a gaping hole in his chest. He tried to breathe, but no air would come. Lily Potter, the boy and the entire room were sprayed red with his blood. He used his magic, all of what was still under his command to turn around. He had to see who would dare. His eyes grew wide when he stared at his most loyal, his most dangerous, his most devoted. Bellatrix was the traitor.

The last thing he thought, the last thing he swore by all magic was that she would pay. One day, she would suffer like no one on this planet had ever suffered. Then his body fell apart. His shoulders ripped from the rest of his body and fell right next to it as a hellish scream shook the night and a black wisp, almost invisible in the night and chaos, fled from the house.

Voldemort was dead.

xxx

Lily pressed Harry against herself like a lifeline. She could only stare. Her muscles didn't move, her mind was blank and most of her senses made no sense. She had the foul, salty taste of blood in her mouth. There was the soft skin of her son in her hands. So far so good. What did not make sense was the woman with the wild hair, fierce face, clad in corset and black dress that had just blown out the Dark Lord's chest.

"Bellatrix… Lestrange?" Lily asked. She could barely form the words, let alone figure out what that nod meant, before the woman, who seemed to be Bellatrix bloody Lestrange, ran back down the stairs.

"What…" Lily stammered. "What the bloody hell happened?" She looked down onto her son. He was sprayed with the Dark Lord's blood, but the little guy didn't mind. He held onto his mommy and whined quietly. "Yeah, I don't know either." Lily said to him.

She took her wand and with one wave the room began to clean up. The blood piled together into a puddle under the corpse of Voldemort.

The corpse of Voldemort. Lily stared at it as she sat Harry back into his crib. He-who-must-not-be-Named was currently laying in two pieces on her floor, staining the rug of her son's nursery with his blood. And responsible for that was Bellatrix goddamn Lestrange.

Lily had of course a series of theories. Polyjuice, some obscure potions, several spells and she was also half sure that this was a very lucid nightmare and she may need a headache potion when she woke up.

She was violently torn from her stunned musing when the Right Hand of the Dark Lord, Bellatrix Lestrange came running into the nursery, with a wounded and bleeding James floating at her side.

"Any good at healing spells, Potter?" Her voice was as if the whole ordeal was boring her, so calm and distant.

Lily just stared at her. She couldn't move and had she cared she would have been mortified with embarrassment at her hanging jaw and big eyes.

Bellatrix just smirked back at her. "You know… you may want to do something about those wounds. Jamesy-boy is bleeding like a faucet."

That got Lily working again. James! She immediately focused on her husband's broken body. He was bruised all over and there was a huge gash through his shoulder where vein blood lazily flowed in great amounts. Lily waved her wand over the life threatening wound and began chanting. The spell she needed to work was complex, with very precise wording and exact wand movement.

"Vulnera mortem iter est. Requiem fessas manus Domini in finem." she chanted again and again. After the fifth time the wound finally showed first signs of closing.

"Hmmm…" Lestrange hummed.

"Get me some Murlap Essence. Dresser, first drawer on the left." Not caring who she spoke to Lily issued the order. All the young witch could see was her bleeding husband, not the raised eyebrows of the one who had made it a habit in years past to hurl Killing Curses at her.

Lestrange slowly walked over to the dresser, pulled the blueish essence from the drawer and brought it back to Lily without a word uttered. Rather the dangerous witch made sure to watch every wandmove of Lily, registered every detail of her chants rhythm and wording and made sure to not disturb her work.

Lily was holding back her shivers with all she had when her husband's wounds closed and her surroundings came into view again. Next to her stood a murderess, looking at her healing with something akin to professional curiosity while the woman's master lay next to them in a puddle of his own blood. Was he still her master? Did she really kill him? Did Bellatrix Lestrange kill Lord Voldemort? One part of Lily's brain, the one who said that what you saw was real, had all the answers to that. But the other part, the one who screamed at her to run, that one was utterly and helplessly confused. The only thing Lily knew was that she had to heal James, less he may die from internal wounds..

"A Galleon says this is a dream." Lily said as she began to apply the Murlap onto her husband's chest.

Bellatrix only shrugged.

xxx

With a loud pop Sirius fell onto the cobblestone street right in front of his best friends house. He had felt the alerts, the many tripwire-spells going off and he knew that something horrible had happened. He groaned as he righted himself up from the harsh landing of a hurried apparition, but there was no time to whine. He turned around and a silent "No." escaped him.

He stood before Potter Cottage and the only thing he saw was the massive hole right in the middle of it. He could see the staircase and the Entrance corridor. The brooms from the closets lay in pieces over the debris. Furniture was blasted over the lawn.

"No no no no…" Sirius could barely do a step, but forced himself to move forward. He stumbled onto the grounds, over the destroyed gravel path and his feet kicked away a stick.

"Oh Merlin, please no." he wailed as he saw the so familiar form of James' wand. "This can't…" he choked as he picked up the oak with dragon heartstring core. He pressed it against his chest, tears falling freely now. His entire body rocked with his sobs and he had trouble breathing.

But his despair wouldn't hold long. It quickly made way for the burning inferno in his heart. The traitor wasn't Remus. He laughed without humor. A rat, of course, how else could it be? "PETTIGREW!" he roared into the night. "YOU'RE DEAD, YOU HEAR ME?!"

"Oi, dimwit."

Sirius whirled around, his wand searching for his target. He knew that voice. He knew it damn well. "Bellatrix! Where are you? Show yourself!"

"Here, knubhead." His eyes went wide when he saw her casually standing in the hole of the house, one hand against her hip and one hand pointing down the corridor to the nursery. "What took you so long? People are waiting for you." With that she walked off towards Harry's room, letting a gobsmacked Sirius behind.

The stupor wouldn't hold for long. Once it all came through he sprinted into the house as if the devil himself was behind him. He crashed against the walls, fell over the steps, but just catapulted himself forward with his hands when his feet found no purchase. He ran towards the lighted room, right at the end of the corridor, a thousand thoughts shooting through his mind. What the hell was Bellatrix doing here? Would he run right into Voldemort? But why would he stick around? To gloat?

Just in front of the room Sirius slowed down. There was a robed body on the floor, it's feet just out of the door. Sirius pointed his wand towards the door. He fortified himself, took a deep breath and then counted down.

3...2...1…

He stormed the room, a fierce snarl on his face and a cutting curse in his mind, ready to fire.

"Oh, Sirius, good that you're here." he heard a woman say that looked like Lily, talked like Lily and sounded like Lily. But obviously she couldn't be Lily as neither she nor Bellatrix lay dead on the floor. As he was thinking about dead people on the floor he quickly looked down, just to see the lifeless eyes of the Dark Lord stare back. He looked back at that woman who may or may not be Lily and saw James at her feet, unconscious but breathing, with some fierce scars over his face and body, but otherwise looking right as rain.

"Uhm…" Sirius started. He looked again at the scene. Lily was stroking Jame's hair, a small, slightly mad smile on her face and a thousand yard stare in her eyes. Bellatrix frowned, as was her default expression and sat at the window sill between stuffed animals and colorful pillows. She was staring at the squirming form of his baby godson who was cuddling with a small stuffed griffin and gurgling happily. "What the BLOODY HELL is going on here?"

Lily answered, her voice distant and somewhat dreamy. "Voldemort attacked. James tried to keep him from us, but got blasted out of the wall. Then he came for me and Harry. Before he could finish the Killing Curse, Bellatrix here," at that Lily chuckled. "Bellatrix here killed him with a Bombarda to the chest."

Sirius shook his head. "Come again."

"Your cousin killed Voldemort." Lily stated as a matter of fact. "I'm still sixty percent sure this is a dream, but I haven't thought through every possibility. Can I say 'this is a dream' within a dream? I don't know, really. I think I know a book about that, though."

"I think she's in shock, but that's just me." Bellatrix added from the window sill, her gaze never leaving Harry.

Sirius shook his head, but somehow the situation didn't make more sense afterwards. He slowly walked past Lily and James, and stepped next to Bellatrix. She wouldn't look at him until he stepped in the line of sight between her and Harry.

"What did I say to you on Regulus' eighth birthday over the cake?" he asked, wand against her temple.

"Trick question. You gave me the silent treatment through the entire Yule holidays, because I wouldn't smuggle you to Hogwarts in my trunk."

"Bloody hell, Bella." Sirius breathed. "You… you… You killed Voldemort? Why?"

She kept her face neutral, but her hands fidgeted with a stuffed dragon. She kneaded the toy and her other hand was fixated on her lap, as if any movement on her part could mean her breaking down. But her face never wavered, her lips never quivered, her eyes kept coldly staring. She whispered. "Do you remember what you said at Castle Black?"

Sirius took a step back in shock, but he nodded.

"Do you still feel like that?"

Sirius swallowed heavily. "Yes." he whispered back.

They didn't need anything else. Bella held out a hand and Sirius eagerly took it. She pulled him towards her and Sirius followed without protest. They fell together, and their lips met. He felt as her nails dug in his sides and she pulled him closer to her. His own arms snaked around her, held her tight to him.

"HA!"

They both broke their kiss and looked at Lily who seemed to have reached her limit as she giggled and then collapsed onto James, unconscious.

"She's a weird one." Bellatrix commented.

"Aye," Sirius said and nodded. "Don't you think so too?" he asked his godson who sat in his crib, staring up at them.

xxx

Harry's last two months of life were among the best of his life. True, he probably had lived through these times once, but now he possessed the brainpower necessary to work through the amazing feeling of being cooed over by his parents, the antics of his two uncles Remus and Sirius and the amusing revelation that Minerva McGonagall got all mushy when she talked with little babies.

All that was on the plus side of things. On the minus side was the fact that he was very much caged in a one-year old's body. He soiled his nappies, he wailed when he wanted something and his muscles were about as useful as a mechanic made of flobberworms.

But he didn't complain. He had been told that the point of divergence was somewhere around a month after his first birthday. However he had not expected to be allowed to keep his memories. Several times he mused if maybe Death made a mistake, but he wouldn't complain if he had. Being a one year old with the knowledge of a seventeen year old was, frankly, making his mother raving mad with happiness and Harry enjoyed every second of her gushing and hugging and kissing.

Over all this hung a shadow. Despite what Death had said, nothing was certain. What if his happiness did not mean his parents would survive? Halloween came closer and closer and Harry knew, that day would decide everything.

On Halloween he had woken up bathed in sweat. His mother had thought he was getting sick. He tried to tell her " _Voldemort is coming. Get the fuck out of the house!"_ but all that came from his mouth was. "Valamad 's comn."

Yes, being a seventeen year old in a one year old's body was hell on earth when your skill to communicate was the one thing needed to get your parents to safety. He had tried to paint them a picture of the coming night only to be congratulated on his 'amazing drawing' while his parents shared worried glances.

"He's seeing too much of this war." Lily had said as she hugged him tight. "He shouldn't have to."

So Harry had to wait and sit and just watch as his parents joked with each other on the day of their approaching demise. At dinner they had talked about Neville, James' godson and how they missed the Longbottoms. Harry cherished every moment of it. Every time his mother laughed he tried to burn the memory into his mind. Every joke, every play of words and all those funny anecdotes his father told and his mother rolled her eyes at with a smile on her face. All of them he packed into a trunk in his mind, never to leave his memories or fade.

It was night and he had been put in his crib. He stayed awake and alert. Anytime now it would happen. Sometimes he caught himself hoping that due to the divergence, whatever it had been, Neville would be the Boy-Who-Lived, and he hated himself for even thinking it.

Though when the day was almost over, close to midnight, he suddenly heard the door explode. It was happening. He heard his father shout and the one-year old in him began to wail. His mother burst into the room. Her face was wet with tears as she chanted something so complicated that the words themselves didn't even fully register with him.

Then Voldemort stood there and Harry just knew that his father must be dead. Again.

He gloated and made hollow promises. As if he would ever let anyone go. His mother was so brave as she hugged him and he hated it that he was so helpless. He would bear the mark again, he was sure of it and he wailed and cried because he knew that his parents were not meant to be part of his happiness.

And then fucking Bellatrix Lestrange did her boss in. What the hell?! All this nerve wracking, nappy wetting, existence contemplating stress and then Bellatrix I-Eat-Kittens-For-Breakfast Lestrange paints his nursery red with Dark Lord innards.

Then that woman gets out, comes back with his father - who is alive - helps heal him and then stops Sirius from making the dumbest decision of his life with an eloquent mastery of the English language. "Oi dimwit!"

" _Fuck off, Death."_ Harry thought, but just gurgled happily from his mouth. Yes, it was true that all that really came through from his baby-brain to his muscles and nerves was the sheer relief and happiness that his father was alive.

Even though his mother may have gotten a few of her screws loose. _Meh… Details._

Harry soon was happy with his one-year old part. He wanted to be hugged by Sirius, but the man had only eyes for his cousin. Well, he couldn't hold it against the man. The scene he stumbled into was surreal. He asked her a safety question. Good thinking, Sirius. Then they whispered to each other and then…

" _WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL?!"_ his adult brain screamed while his toddler body just gaped at the scene while drooling slightly.

He heard his mother collapse with a loud "HA!" in the background, but that barely distracted him from the dragon in the room. Sirius was making out with his cousin.

With his murderous, femme fatale - no scratch that - femme apocalypse, Death Eater cousin, who, by the way, had been staring at Harry like he was some creature from outer space. Creepy bitch.

Then that woman had the gall to say "She's a weird one." like his mother having an emotional fallout was the point of discussion in that room.

At that point Harry just shut off and let himself be one year old. He wanted his Unca Si-i-us to hold him and then a nap until the morning light when he would wake up the entire house because he was hungry.

xxx

It was a truly strange experience for her, to sit in someone's arms, having them wrapped around her and not feel like suffocating. But he had always rubbed her a different way, she figured. His kisses didn't taste like spit and digestive systems. He tasted like smoke and burnt things, hearty whiskey from Skye and raw steak. His arms did not demand of her to follow or to lead. With every of his touches he seemed to ask "What's the game?". Everything was with him, everything just a big, bad joke. She loved to laugh about it.

When he has had the chance he hesitated. He didn't kill her. He hurt her, true. Both of them had their bones mended several times because of the other. It was war. That was alright. But killing each other? No, that wasn't possible. Who would deal out the pain when the other was dead? So he didn't kill her and yet he had hurt her more than ever, telling her he loved her like that. After what they had done.

It had changed everything. On the other side it hadn't really changed anything. She had always known, but never had she been brave enough to take it. All that cunning and positioning, all the violence, all the intrigue and blackmail couldn't give her what she knew she had wanted all along in that moment. It was just one push, one kiss and she knew that there was only one path that would lead to anything remotely resembling happiness in her life. Everything else may lead to death.

She hadn't known how to tell him. Slytherins always had problems with Love. That was the realm of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, those who were ready, maybe even eager to bare open their souls to others. So she had waited, hoped that she would find some Helga or Godric in her, but it never came.

Not until she looked onto the astronomical calendar in the lounge of Lestrange Hall and realized that she was overdue. She didn't think much of it, then. War did many things with the body. The adrenaline, the stress of combat and the dance of the fight wrecked havoc on one's intestines. Then the second month came and once again she was overdue and gone were her doubts. She was with child. It was also without a doubt Sirius' child.

Fate must have had enough of her indecision for Bellatrix couldn't think of another reason why she was confronted with a deadline. Once her belly would swell, once she had to go easy with the corsets, she would need to explain. To whom was the question.

There weren't many options. Her first thought was to blame it on one of the few nights the Dark Lord came to her bed. She had shook her head enough to almost get whiplash. Implying he botched up a contraceptive charm was like asking to be tortured into madness. No, she wouldn't be the mother of Lord Voldemort's cuckoo child offspring.

Rodolphus fell completely flat. As much as that unwashed pig tried to blame it on her, it was quite clear that it was his fault they hadn't got any children yet. That's what you get for using Engorgio too much on your genitals.

It had been a warm and friendly October night when she had seen the traitor Pettigrew walk into the Dark Lord's chambers once again. It had been pure coincidence that she had flooed to Malfoy Manor to speak about her conundrum with Narcissa. It was just her unbound curiosity that got her listening in on the conversation.

On All Hallow's Eve, minutes before Samhain, the Dark Lord would attack and finally make use of whatever Severus had brought to him at the end of June. She hadn't been sure what it was, but it has had the Lord grinning, which meant it was something utterly destructible for the opposition.

Two days before Halloween Bellatrix had stunned Pettigrew, dragged him into her own little hideout on the northern coast of Scotland and flogged the bastard until he spewed the information of what would happen at Halloween.

Fate presented her with an out and the plan had been quickly developed. She knew her Lord better than anyone. When he would strut into the Cottage in Godric's Hollow he would feel indestructible, unbeatable and as sure of himself as a God of old times. He would not expect treason.

She would kill him. She would take responsibility for the kill. She would then cozy up to the blood traitors and mudbloods, as disgusting as that was, and claw and hammer a future out of this mess for herself and the child within her with the best case scenario being that she would finally be able to take what she wanted. Sirius.

As she so lay in Sirius' arms, she mentally put a checkmark next to 'Kill the Dark Lord' and 'Get Sirius'. Now she waited for the eventual cavalry to arrive too late and prepared for her first steps into acting.

 _You were forced into service. You actually don't mind mud… muggleborns and blood-tra… progressives._ She shivered as she thought that. _You finally freed yourself when you heard your one true love's chosen family was in danger and decided to rescue them. 'Why did you kill?' they will ask. 'Because I was forced' you will reply._ she pep talked herself in her mind.

She then checked her Occlumency. At that she just hoped they wouldn't insist on Veritaserum plus Legilimency. Her thoughts were a mess, she blamed the annoying fuzzy feeling in her chest. Add to that the sheer dread when she saw the Potter brat and she doubted she would be able to withstand both methods combined enough to tell the modified truth. She had been forced, technically. Five years ago her parents insisted on her marrying Rodolphus lest she would become an 'old crone with barren womb'. How that had seemed like a close danger at her age of nineteen was anyone's guess, but one did not refuse the family's wishes and stay on the tapestry. So she became that slob's wife which then kick started her career as Death Eater. Killing just came with the job. She just hoped that people would interpret the past in light of her most recent action of killing Voldemort. The beheaded corpses of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange lying around the lounge of Lestrange Hall may even convince the jury that she had to free herself and had killed them in the struggle.

Which reminded her that she would need witnesses when the Aurors came.

"I think we should wake them." she said to Sirius. He was currently nibbling on her ear like a lovesick puppy. "Lest the Aurors only hear about our innocence when they have already blasted us into tiny shreds."

"You're right." Sirius agreed, but still moved reluctantly away from her.

"As always." She smirked at him. He rolled his eyes and they shared a smile. When he rose his wand to charm them awake, Bellatrix held his hand down so that one last question could be asked between them two.

"Sirius," she began. She felt how she again strangled the stuffed dragon, but she was proud that her face remained impassive. He looked at her with his goddamn, grey puppy eyes - curse that man - and waited for her to speak. She took one last breath and then whispered. "When they wake up. When they start asking what you're doing with me. Will you promise that you choose me over them?"

"They won't make me choose." Sirius said with such conviction that she almost believed him. However, reality wasn't sunshine and roses. He knew that and she knew that, but he had to be reminded with a raised eyebrow and a glare.

He sighed and took her hand. It was the one he had broken two months ago. He squeezed it lightly, planted a kiss on it and whispered. "I'll stay with you. Wherever you go, I go. They put you in Azkaban, I break you out."

"That is the same promise you made six years ago in a broom closet." She hissed back.

"But this time I mean it." Sirius shot back in a hissed whisper. "I have changed. Five years of war have changed me and now I know what's important." He pointed at the two Potters still unconscious on the floor. "They are important." Then he pointed at the Potter brat. "Harry is important." Finally he turned to her, took her hand and laid it over his heart while he laid his own hand over hers. "But this is the most important."

"Smooth," she deadpanned, but Sirius grinned as he enjoyed the traitorous little smile on her lips and the red on her cheeks. He didn't say anything more. He just raised his wand and shot two Ennervate towards the Potters.

They groaned as they woke up. James rolled over and tried to push himself up with shaky hands. He looked at himself like he wasn't sure if he was alive and padded himself up and down the body to make sure everything was in place. Then he sank into a corner and eyed the scene with a series of varying expressions on his face.

Lily on the other hand shot up from her slumber in an instant. The first thing she looked for was Harry and James, but when she had made sure that her family was alive and well her entire focus switched towards the people on the window sill and the body on the floor.

She stood up, shaky at first and her eyes went back and forth between the body of Voldemort, Bellatrix and Sirius.

"Huh," she uttered and then began waving her wand in some pattern. Bellatrix wouldn't say it even under torture, but she was impressed by Lily's casual mastery of complex magic. First the healing chant and now something of a detection charm, but way more complicated than anything she knew herself.

The auburn haired witch eventually finished with her spellwork, blinked and then focused a confused look onto Bellatrix. "There is no spells active here other than those I myself casted. That also means no potions or curses like the Imperio."

"How do you know that?" Bellatrix asked, baffled by the absolute conviction in the mudbl - muggleborns voice. When Lily Potter took a breath to start her explanation Bellatrix quickly waved her hands. "No forget that. Do you remember what happened?"

"I know that I woke up and saw you and Sirius hugging like a schoolyard couple which leads me to the conclusion that everything I remember is neither a dream nor an illusion as there are no spells active that would make that happen, which then means that you, Bellatrix Lestrange, just killed He-Who… uhm, right, no taboo anymore… you killed Voldemort. So that means you betrayed your master in order to be together with Sirius? Because… you love him?"

Bellatrix wanted to answer but the witch interrupted her.

"Although, your motivations are of secondary importance right now. I presume Pettigrew was killed… no wait, the Fidelius isn't collapsed, but the secret is currently fading because... the Keeper was made to spill it? That means you have him imprisoned somewhere? Yes, must be. Anyway, the Aurors will come in about 5 minutes if I analysed the spell's read on the Fidelius right. I wonder what keeps Dumbledore? But then again, Voldemort probably didn't go into this attack without a diversion somewhere. Anyway, off the target here." she kept murmuring to herself and waving her wand in patterns Bellatrix could only find equal complexity to in what Voldemort and Dumbledore showcased from time to time. She occasionally hummed and nodded, but seemed to be in her own world while doing so.

"She's scary." Bellatrix whispered to Sirius. He just snorted a laugh and nodded.

"There are six people in this room but only four have matured magic." Lily stated. She turned around and without any doubt in her voice said. "You're pregnant. Second month at least."

Bellatrix gaped at her. "Uhm…" was her eloquent response. One look at Sirius told her that he had instantly figured it out by himself and just had to make sense of the information. He looked rather stupid as the message trickled into his brain.

"Sirius, please don't tell me you knocked up your cousin." came the wheezing voice from James. "Just kidding, right? Hahaha, look at James, he fell for it. Right?" When all James got from Sirius was a shellshocked expression he tried once more, this time pleading. "Right? Guys, come on, I almost died. This isn't the time for pranks."

"No prank, I'm afraid, Jamesey-boy." Bellatrix said. She kept her eyes away from Sirius, afraid of what she would see. But as so often, the man couldn't let her ignore him in peace. He moved around her, kneeled in front of her and stared up into her eyes. His jaw worked and he opened his mouth several times without words coming out.

"Is it… is it…?" he finally stammered.

"Yours?" she asked. "Yes."

Sirius' face lit up into the brightest smile she had ever seen on her cousin's face, closely followed by a deep frown. "That's why you came." he accused.

She rolled her eyes and poked him against the forehead. "I have no problem raising a bastard child, you dimwit." She then pressed a small kiss on his head. The following grin on his face told her that he understood. He understood that she could have ran, gone to some place where she could raise her child alone, but she decided to stay for one reason that was currently kneeling in front of her.

"Sirius." came James' voice again. Though the wheezing had stopped and it now held an edge. "Tell me, right now, that you aren't… that this isn't what it looks like."

"What does it look like?" Sirius asked, but his head never turned to look at James. Rather, Sirius softly caressed her stomach.

"Looks like you plan a family with your cousin. But that sounds so ridiculous that I may blame my wounds for some hallucinations if you tell me otherwise… right now."

"And what if I don't, James?" Sirius still kneeled before her. However, his body told how tense he was. "What _if_ I do plan that?"

"She's a murderer!" James shouted as loud as his beaten up lungs allowed.

"So am I." Sirius called back. "So are we all. It was war. Look who's soiling your rug with his blood. The war is over."

James pulled himself up, groaning as his body rebelled against being moved. "So what? Forgive and forget? Are you mental?"

Finally Sirius stood up and turned around. But he did not move far, only positioned himself between Bellatrix and James. His wand hung lazily at his side, though his muscles were ready to spring in action. "I made a mistake six years ago. I'm not making it again."

Bellatrix remained calm, even though the fuzzy feeling made itself known by quite an annoying margin at that point. She kept it under control by focusing her hate of James Potter to the surface. How dare that scum to talk like that?

"James." Lily stood next to him and was laying a calming hand on his shoulder. "She saved us."

"But she killed dozens of others!" he spat.

 _Wait, what?_ Bellatrix frowned. She didn't remember killing that much people. So she looked past Sirius and said "I killed five. Six, maybe, if that Auror didn't survive. Seven if you count the Dark Lord."

"Bullshit! I won't have..."

"James, stop!" Lily now held her husband's jaw and kept it shut. "We will figure this out. But the fact of the matter is that she saved all our lives today. That gotta be worth something, even if she is a psychotic bitch..."

"Hey!"

"... with zero self awareness, evidently." She looked her husband deep into his eyes. Bellatrix knew, just by looking at his stance and posture that he hadn't got a chance at that point. "Do you want to keep your friend?" she asked him.

"Yes, of course." James quietly said. He pulled Lily closer to him.

"Then you will have to accept his child. Love it even, as he loves Harry."

"Lily, I…"

"I know. I'm not sure myself. But we will figure this out. James! It is over. It is over. Voldemort is dead! What price is this to pay for the death of this vile thing?"

James looked at her. Bellatrix could feel his anger, maybe even hate, but sure as hell his profound dislike. He looked at Sirius and in that moment they seemed to have some sort of telepathic conversation. At the end of their exchange of glances, nods and headshakes James sighed and went back to sit in his corner with a short "Very well."

Lily turned towards her then. Bellatrix had to admit that over the last ten minutes her respect for the mud... muggleborn had increased a thousandfold. The girl was arguably a genius of magic and had a mind as quick as a Snitch. Hence, when the green eyes of the witch took on a mischievous glint Bellatrix tensed up and checked for her wand.

"I take it you'll want us to paint a very heroic picture in our witness statements?"

Bellatrix nodded. "That would be highly appreciated. Azkaban does nothing for my teint."

"Maybe you'd even like for us to drop some hints that you weren't a Death Eater by choice?"

"What your game, Potter?"

Lily just pointed at Bellatrix' belly. "I'm the godmother."

Bellatrix spluttered and took a breath to start the rant of how that was not going to happen, but Lily Potter kept on, not even caring for the grimace of promised death on Bellatrix' face. "You'll bring her or him to playdates with Harry. You'll let us shower the baby in presents and kisses and cuddles and you will _like_ it."

"WHAT?!" Bellatrix finally screeched. "Absolutely not! As if you….as … you… AARGH! SAY SOMETHING, SIRIUS!"

"Well, I think that's a great idea." he said in a forced neutral voice that just barely hid the mirth in it.

Bellatrix squinted her eyes at him and growled out the next words. "Fine," she took a deep breath and quickly reminded herself of the plan. She had to stay focused even if the mudblood - and this time she didn't give one damn about correcting herself - took that way too far. She would pay, later. But she would pay. "but I name the child. No discussion." At least that privilege she would keep. _A mudblood as godmother. I can already feel my face on the tapestry spontaneously combust._

"That's a no to bed athletics for the next week, I think." Sirius quipped.

"No its not." Bellatrix hissed.

"Its not?"

"No, you just won't like it." Bellatrix said in a voice that made hell freeze over. Sirius swallowed. James and Lily tried, but ultimately failed to hide a laugh.

They spent the next few minutes in silence. Lily and James celebrated quietly that they were still alive. They gave each other tender kisses and held close together, ever so often shooting glances at Harry who slept tight in his crib as if nothing had happened. They also didn't remove the Dark Lord from their rug. They decided that, at least until the DMLE was here, he looked damn good, so broken into two pieces.

Bellatrix pulled Sirius back to the window sill and made him her pillow for the time they waited. Sirius had a hand on her stomach and the other hand played with her hair. Both of them knew the real talk, the long discussion about what happened and what their future - _their future -_ would bring, had to wait for a calmer moment. Right now just cuddling back together like they're eight and ten again was enough to keep their nerves while waiting for the authorities.

Eventually they heard the pops outside of the house. The world just remembered that Potter Cottage was located at 15 Smith Alley, Godric's Hollow.

"Showtime." Bellatrix said. She grabbed Sirius' hand and waited upright.

It quickly became louder as more and more people apparated onto the premises. They could hear shouts and people rummaging through the debris. From the few stray words one could only think that the wizarding world was convinced that everybody in Potter Cottage was dead.

Someone climbed the stairs, followed by a few others.

"There's a body!" a woman shouted. "Squad, ready for breach."

At that Lily got up, pressed another kiss on her husband's head and moved towards the door. She stuck her head out of the frame and waved at the Aurors. "Hey, Amy!"

"Lily! You're alive!" said the female Auror from the corridor. "You're alive?"

"M'yup" Lily replied with a cheek.

"What did we do, Halloween 1974 during the feast?" the female Auror, Amy as it were, asked.

"Amy, I can't…"

"Answer the question!"

"We… oh, do I have to…" Lily begun, but at the shuffle of several feet outside she waved them off. "Yeah, yeah, keep your shirts on. We had sex. Hot and steamy lesbian sex. You happy now?"

"Lily?" James looked at his wife as if she had just grown a second head.

"I was curious, James. No questions!"

"James is alive, too?" Amy asked. She and her entire squad were still outside on the corridor. "Who else is with you in the room?"

"James, Harry, Sirius and Bellatrix."

"What?!"

"Oh, and Lord Voldemort in two pieces. Do dead people count?"

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, fun story. But maybe, Amy, you want to come in? Oh, and keep your wand down."

"Alright, you all stay here." Amy commanded. When the Auror came through the door, Bellatrix finally saw who Lily meant by Amy. Amelia Bones, the up and coming Auror Captain. Bellatrix wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one side, Bones wasn't a 'Curse first, ask questions with Legilimency' type of Auror. On the other side she was allergic to bribe-money and bullshitting.

"Holy Circe!" Amelia shouted when she saw Voldemort on the floor. "Is that really?"

"Lord Voldemort, in the flesh… and nothing else anymore." Lily cheered.

"It's over?"

"It's over."

"That was… " Amelia searched for words. Her eyes were wet with tears at the news, but always the fighter she held them back. "That was not what I expected when I came here. We were sure we would find your… your bodies."

"Well, thanks to Bella over there…"

"Don't call me Bella."

"...we're safe and sound, if maybe a bit beaten up and emotionally confused."

Amelia squinted her eyes and looked through the room. Her fingers rolled the wand in her hand around. Her feet were in a position to fight. "I need an explanation. I need a very good explanation as to why a murderer, a traitor and three Potters are sitting in a room and it better not be a bar joke."

"Oh," Lily grinned and put an arm around Amelia. "Strap yourself in, you'll love this. You see, it all began when Sirius and Bellatrix…"

What followed was an elaborate tale of love and hardship. Lily painted a picture of a misunderstood rogue, a anti-heroine who just wanted to survive a world that had it out for her. In graphic detail she described the horrible state of Bellatrix when she had first met Lily and their plan to get the Black witch out of her husband's and his master's grasp.

Bellatrix sat there, stunned by the audacity of the muggleborn. The lie was absolutely perfect. Lily stopped at the right times, corrected herself just enough times that it seemed like slips of the mind and made it just believable enough so that the truth would seem more unreasonable. She also didn't include anyone in her lie but herself and Bellatrix. James and Sirius could claim they hadn't known of anything and she left the story just open enough so that any detail Bellatrix would add could be fused into the tale. They came to Halloween and Lily went off a long winded story of how Bellatrix risked her own life to come to their rescue, ending Lord Voldemort in the process and proclaiming her undying love for Sirius.

At the end Amelia stared at Bellatrix not in anger or with suspicion but with what, Bellatrix suspected, was something of a mix between pity and adoration. "Will you confirm this testimony in court?" she asked Lily.

"Of course." the auburn haired witch said without hesitation. "It is the least I can do for the one who saved my families lives."

"This is an amazing story. It… it changes so much. If I wouldn't see it myself I would call you a liar." Amelia shook her head and then addressed Sirius and Bellatrix. "You will both have to stand trial, though. You're still wanted for murder, Bellatrix Lestrange. And Dumbledore has raised charges of treason against you, Sirius."

"Why would he…?" Bellatrix started, but quickly went silent when Sirius touched her hand.

"It's to be expected. Dumbledore still thinks I was the Secret Keeper. The trial should be nothing but formality." he ensured her.

"Indeed. We have two Potters saying Pettigrew is the traitor. That should suffice. Where is the ball of lard, anyway?"

"What would you say if I say that he hangs in chains from my basement ceiling?"

"That I'd like to have Death Eater take-away for breakfast tomorrow." Amelia smiled.

"Done," Bellatrix nodded at her. "I don't make any excuses for his state, though. I needed the Secret and I needed it as fast as possible. You understand?"

"Sure, sure…" Amelia waved it off. "So you and Sirius? Aren't you…?"

"Cousins? Yes, we are."

"No, I meant aren't you married?"

"Recently widowed."

"What? But Rodolphus was seen just three days ago."

"Very recently. You remember when Lily said I had to fight my way through them to freedom?"

"Yes…"

"That was meant literally. I literally ran through the falling slices of their bodies to freedom. This morning. Check out Lestrange Hall, you'll find some Death Eater shish-kebab in the lounge."

"Oh, Merlin…" Amelia made a disgusted face at the graphic imagery.

"And since you're at it, go to Malfoy Manor, make Lucius Malfoy take you to a door behind the portrait of Zanibarius Malfoy the Brilliant and make him open it. When you leave the house make sure you leave Narcissa your floo address. She says she misses your office hours, Thundertongue."

"I… I…" Amelia stammered. Her cheeks went beet red and she averted the eyes from the amused grins of everybody in the room. "I'll see to it." She cleared her throat. "What will I find behind the door?"

"A prison." Bellatrix said. "I do not know more about it. I just heard Lucius gloat about it on occasion." That was, of course, a lie. She knew damn well what was behind it, but honestly, she rather the DMLE publish a statement that says they found Lucius sex-slaves slash, fetish room and have Rita Skeeter devour the blond ponce. Once he was in Azkaban, she would get Narcissa over her stupid sense of duty and do some matchmaking between Narcissa Malfoy and Amelia 'the Thundertongue' Bones.

Oh, and she would never let Amelia Bones forget the name Thundertongue. Not in a million years. Little kinky, sister-seducing Auror that she was, she deserved nothing else.

With that thought Bellatrix leaned back against Sirius and grinned like a loon. The plan had worked perfectly. So perfect even that her paranoia was in full effect and only held back by the knowledge that she could still get out.

Amelia made her way out of the room, telling everyone who would listen, which was really everybody, that Bellatrix Lestrange had killed the Dark Lord.

"Bellatrix Black, Defeater of You-Know-Who." Sirius whispered to her.

"Has a ring to it." she answered and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

xxx

6\. November 1981

Sirius looked over the arrangement in his new home for one last time. He stood in the middle of the dining Hall in Castle Black. It was a magnificent Hall, with gothic arches, framing lead glass windows with the images of old Black nobility, stretching four levels high where they ended in centerpoints with chandeliers hanging from them. There were ten of those cast iron chandeliers. Each of them was enormous, shining with the light of several hundred enchanted candles. Beneath them, on the white marble floor, covered with rugs depicting the Goblin Rebellions, stood a long, oaken table, surrounded by throne-like chairs. At the very end of the table, there were two more chairs, both of them actual thrones made of dark wood and black iron, where he would sit his Queen and he himself would preside over the guests like a King.

All of that was found in the depths of Castle Black, discarded by the family and stored with Preservation Charms. It was an easy matter to seize the Castle and its contents, especially due to their ever growing clout. The documents at the Ministry were signed within hours, houseelves bound to Bellatrix and himself found within another thirty minutes. Then it was only a matter of watching Trilly and Ella set up the place.

Castle Black was by far not as large as Hogwarts, but for only a few people it was just as ridiculously overkill as Sirius liked. The old castle stood proud on the Beinn Bhreac looking down onto Loch Lomond in the east and Loch Long in the west as well as the vast scottish nature around it. It was a castle built for defence, its dungeons and tunnels reaching deep into the mountain, with five outer towers, each of them on the point of the pentagram-star that the walls of the castle formed. In its middle stood two more towers. One housed the living quarters and was as large as Gryffindor Tower with salons, living rooms, music rooms, bathrooms as big as the Prefects bathroom and enough bedrooms to house a Clan. The smaller, but higher one housed the library. It was empty, with only the shelves left, but it had the potential for a great place for all kinds of magical work and experimentation. In the middle stood the main complex of the castle. There was the Entrance Hall, the place of his - hopefully - last duel with Bellatrix, with its gigantic gate of pure iron which was flanked by two statues of soldiers with the heads of ravens. The Entrance Hall had magnificent staircases leading to both towers, the vast dungeons and tunnel systems beneath the castle as well as the battlements, but was most obvious in its task of leading the guests arriving by Floo, apparition or by foot into the Dining Hall. The archway that led there was golden and silver, with figures of snakes and ravens all around it. Above it, with cast iron letters, on a golden banner stood proudly 'Toujours Pur'. And above the archway, cleaned and brought back to pristine condition, was a tapestry spanning the entire wall with the crest of the House of Black. Three Ravens on white, under a Sword on Red, with not a helmet or wand on top, but a skull promising death to all those who cross the family.

Sirius was eager to find some way to get Bellatrix to discard it for something more his taste. The Gryffindor crest… ah, who was he kidding? The last thing Bellatrix would do was to deny her family and heritage.

Family and heritage. It had become an ambiguous relationship between those and Bellatrix. Sirius had no such qualms. He had forsaken the family, exchanged it for another, much kinder family ages ago. Bellatrix, however, had taken the letters they had received days after Voldemorts death to heart.

The Black family had matters to discuss. They were to report to Grimmauld Place immediately. They - as if Arcturus Black, the Head of the family, expected Sirius to follow such an order. He had laughed at the letter, but Bellatrix found no humor in it.

The compromise was to hold the meeting at their own home, under their own safety measures, right after Bellatrix' last stint in the Ministry.

The trials had been and were but a formality at that point. When Sirius looked at Bellatrix he was sure that her plans worked better than she had expected. She was on edge from the very morning of November the first, to the evening of November the fifth when she was pardoned of some of her crimes and proclaimed innocent on many more. It was perfect Ministry corruption in play. Politicians found it good publicity to cosy up to Bellatrix Black, Destroyer of the Dark Lord and she played her role well. She hadn't been in Slytherin because of family tradition alone.

Sirius looked at his watch. It was half past five and Bellatrix was already slightly overdue. It was to be expected, though. Everybody wanted an interview with her, publications wanted photos and there were even some companies who came to her with contracts for marketing and promotion. Sirius smirked. She said she hated it, but he knew how much she loved it. He knew from the way she ranted about those 'imbecilic pigs' and the way they threw money at her. She has also had those rants about tea parties with her little sister Narcissa, or when she had helped Regulus with his Arithmancy. She smiled way too much during those rants.

Sirius was disturbed in his musing by the distinct sound of apparition, followed by the sweet sound of inbound pain, also known as an irate Bella.

"Why are we in Castle Black, Potter? Wh… What happened here?" he could hear Bellatrix ask.

Sirius quickly walked out into the Entrance Hall, les Bellatrix would start to demand answers from Lily. He may or may not have let Bellatrix in the belief that he planned the meeting with the Black family in his flat in London.

He may or may not die tonight. He looked forward to finding out.

With a huge grin he came through the golden archway and spread his arms. "What do you think?"

"What have you done, Sirius?" she growled. "Why did Potter bring me here?"

"I seized the Castle, of course." Sirius answered in a conversational tone. "I thought since it is the place where we found together, it may be a great place to settle down. I remember a young little witch dreaming of living on top of the Ben Lomond. This, I figured, is the next best thing."

"So when I sent you to use the time I was in trials to search for a house we can raise our child in, your idea was Castle Black?"

"Yup." Sirius said and swept Bellatrix into a hug.

"You're an idiot." she spat.

But Sirius didn't even react to the insult. All he did was to take her by the waist and by her arm and drag her through the steps of a waltz while singing. "By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes - Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond..."

"Arcturus is gonna murder you."

"...Where me and my true love spent many happy days…"

"Your mother may actually turn into a banshee."

"...On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond."

"Sirius!" Bellatrix demanded, but her feet started following his waltz.

"'Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen…"

"We need to talk about what we're saying."

"...On the steep steep sides of Ben Lomond…"

"Circe and Morgana…"

"With a broken heart the Highland hills we view and the moon glints out in the gloaming..."

Bellatrix just sighed and softly hummed against Sirius' chest as he kept singing and they kept dancing through the Entrance Hall. "You'll take the high road and I'll take the low road and I'll be in Scotland before you. Where me and my true love will never meet again."

Sirius stopped dancing and kissed her softly against the forehead. "On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond." he finished.

"You have an awful singing voice." she said against his chest.

"You're a horrible dancer." he gave back, but the smiles in both of their voices said more than their words ever could.

"What possessed you to… to steal the Castle?"

"First off, it's _a castle_. Best house ever. And also, I didn't steal it. It was abandoned and I claimed it."

"That's not how Arcturus will see it." She moved away from his chest and looked deep into his eyes. "He will take it as just another slight against the family. You couldn't wait with this until _after_ this meeting?"

"I thought we get it all over and done with. Get on with our lives with or without them. Their choice."

"Dimwitted Gryffindor."

"Slimy Slytherin."

Sirius received a punch in the guts for his troubles, but instead of a groan he cackled in amusement. Bellatrix meanwhile turned around in the Entrance Hall and took in the freshly renovated state of the castle. "'t will do." she said.

"So, Sirius, when are you gonna drop the next bomb?" Lily asked from the chimney. Both Blacks looked at her. Sirius had a wide grin on his face which made Bellatrix' eyes go wide with dread.

"Is now good?" Sirius asked.

Lily only shrugged in answer. "Your funeral."

"Very well," Sirius turned around to Bellatrix and took her into his arms once again.

"Oh Merlin, what now?" Bellatrix squinted her eyes at the mischievous smile of her cousin.

"You know, since we have such a huge place now I thought we may want to fill it with some life."

"The point, Sirius, get to it."

Sirius just smiled and Lily took over for him. "We talked a bit and since Potter Manor is destroyed and Potter Cottage in need of massive repairs. Repairs that would need months because of the curse and Fidelius residue, Sirius had the idea that we could…"

"No," Bellatrix deadpanned. "Absolutely not. I won't have _Potters_ in my house… castle."

Lily touched her temples and winced theatrically. "Argh… oh… oh my… I think. I think I just remembered. We never did meet and you really were a Death Eater. Oh good golly me, I have to report this to Mr. Crouch immediately."

Bellatrix' felt her right eye start to twitch. She has had to deal with the witch for five days now, as according to her witness testimony they were close chums. Lily Potter was smart, devious, cunning and ruthless in her way of using leverage and reputation. Bellatrix turned around and left for the dining hall without a word. Once she was far enough away she screamed "YOU WIN THIS TIME, POTTER!"

Lily just smirked. "You're a dead man." she told Sirius.

He just shrugged. "I regret nothing."

"NOT YET!" came a screech from the Hall.

xxx

Bellatrix needed a good thirty minutes and two fingers of whiskey to once again find her equilibrium. That in itself was a fragile state, but Sirius made it almost impossible to find. It was probably why she loved him - had always loved him, but it was also taxing on her.

Especially when that man came into the dining hall and took said glass of whiskey with a short "You're pregnant.".

"If you want your child to grow up with a father, you will give me that glass back."

Sirius looked at her with a frown. Then he threw the glass back like a shot and drank its contents. "There's your glass." he said when he put the empty tumbler in her hand.

Bellatrix smashed the glass against the wall and stormed at him. "Are you trying to make this difficult? First you just dump on me that we stole…"

"We didn't…"

"STOLE! That we stole Castle Black. Then out of the blue you… you _blackmail_ me into letting that… that _woman_ and her family live with us and now that I want to just ignore you traitorous bastard for a second you deny me that too." She hammered her hands on the table, whirled around and walked away, just to turn around again and storm once more at Sirius. "If you want to make this work. If you and me should become 'us', then I need you to stand with _me._ What went through your mind? It could not have been my interests you considered when you invited the Potters to live here."

Sirius tried to grab her hands, but Bellatrix slapped his arms away. He sighed, but answered. "As much as I know you want to stay with the Blacks… or in their good graces, anyway, I don't think this is how it's going to go."

"Well now it's certainly going to be a teeny bit more complicated."

"Oh come off it, you know Arcturus couldn't give two fucks about the Castle." Sirius stood up and went to Bellatrix. She held her ground and when he tried to hug her, she slapped his arms away again. Worried grey eyes met stormy violet ones and Sirius' voice became silent. "They won't accept us. They never will. Arcturus may ignore your treason against the pureblood cause, but neither your parents nor my mother will. I asked the Potters because…"

"Because, what?"

"Because they are my family." Sirius grabbed her by the waist when Bellatrix whirled around. He held her close and slithered his arms around her until he hugged her tight. "They can be yours too." he pleaded "You may not see it, and she would rather eat flobberworms than say it, but Lily likes you. You two are very much alike."

"I'm nothing like her." Bellatrix growled.

"She said the same." Sirius answered. "But you are both brilliant witches, you both are cunning and smart and dangerous and ruthless. If you give her a chance, I know you could become good friends with her."

"It's not that easy, Sirius. She's still..."

"A muggleborn?"

"Well," Bellatrix struggled against the hug. "yes."

"And you're still a pureblood supremacist. It's not like this an effort sorely on your side."

Bellatrix sighed. She had known that should she want to keep Sirius - and she truly knew, in her heart, that she wanted to - she would have to deal with his friends. Blood-traitors, half-breeds and mudbloods were his friends of choice and she had known that before making her decision. Still, she wouldn't give in without at least trying to make the deal sweeter for her. "Narcissa is going to get a divorce." she whispered over her shoulder in his ear.

"I heard," Sirius nodded, his head buried in the crook of her neck.

"Malfoy Manor won't be a good place for her, then."

"Won't Lucius be in prison?"

"Lucius yes, Abraxas, no."

"Gotcha. Top level is ours - the view is amazing, by the way. The Potters take the tenth level. That leaves all levels from seventh to eleventh for Cissy to choose. Do you want to send the owl or should I?"

"I think I will." Bellatrix turned around in the hug. She then kissed him softly, quite happy that she would have family of her own around. She really didn't need pregnancy tips from Lily Potter.

"We should prepare. They are about to come. Arcturus will try to get us off guard by coming early." she said.

"I know. Let's go through our points, yes?"

"We are together. We will marry. We will raise our child alone. No compromise." Bellatrix repeated the very points they had spoken of for the last few nights.

Sirius nodded. "We will keep our own vaults. Both my own and the Lestrange vault. No reparations will be paid neither will bloodmoney be a possibility."

"I really don't give a shit about our standing with other purebloods. I killed the Dark Lord and butchered the Lestranges, no regrets"

Sirius chuckled. "Maybe rephrase that?"

"Maybe," Bellatrix gave back with mirth.

When they were ready they heard the chimney light up. Green flames tinged the Entrance Hall in a gloomy light and the shadows of people danced around the walls.

Sirius and Bellatrix sat down on the end of the table, waiting for the members of the Black family to come and take a seat. Sirius grabbed Bellatrix' hand, squeezing it as much for his comfort as for hers. This was the only trial they both went in without knowing the judgement beforehand.

The first to come into the Hall was Arcturus. The regal man with his long white, braided beard and bald head had a fierce scowl on his face. A few steps behind him came his wife, Melania in the usual expensive robes made of finest silks and velvets. They were followed by Bellatrix' parents, Cygnus and Druella as well as her grandparents, Pollux and Irma. A few moments later Cassiopeia Black strode into the Hall like she owned it, which probably was close to what she thought. Narcissa sneaked into the Hall, eager to get lost in the corner, away from prying eyes. The last one was Sirius' mother, Walburga Black, accompanied by her sister in law Lucretia.

There were no greeting, no niceties exchanged. The family focused their gazes onto the two youngest in the room. When everybody had settled in Arcturus took a step forward and got a piece of parchment out of his robes. He carelessly threw it on the table and said, in his low, quiet voice that still commanded the room. "This is the latest overview over our vaults. One million, two hundred and twenty thousand, five hundred and sixteen Galleons, twenty Sickles and five Knuts did we spend on this war."

"Sounds like a shit investment." Sirius drawled.

"You keep your mouth shut, boy!" Arcturus shouted. "You are the disgrace of this family, the shitstain we seem to be unable to clean off our name. Speak out of line again and suffer."

Sirius was about to give back as good as he got, but he stopped when Bella squeezed his hand. He settled down, even more so than before, in a leaned back position that purely by itself seemed to dismiss everybody else in the room as beneath his notice.

Bellatrix stood up and gestured around the table. "Take a seat, everybody. Depending on what direction this conversation takes I rather you either sit comfortably or are handicapped in getting into dueling stance. So please, there won't be talk until you sit."

Arcturus eyed the two thrones they sat in with disdain and compared it with his own chair. In any other setting the chairs on the side would have looked like the seat of a King themselves, but compared to the two on the head they were clearly the place of the lesser person in the room. Yet, without comment the Head of House sat down. Sirius didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Following him were the rest of the Blacks. Sirius especially enjoyed the murderous look he got from his mother. He made a kissy face at her, hoping she would explode on him - give him a reason.

Bellatrix was the last to sit back down when she had given everybody in the room her trademark scowl. Tense was the one word describing the entire situation to a T.

"I take it everybody has heard the rough outline of what happened?" Bellatrix asked the round.

"Traitor." Walburga hissed. She was quickly silenced by Arcturus, though the Head seemed to agree on the sentiment.

"Bellatrix." Arcturus let the name roll off his tongue. He was looking for words, which was an entirely new thing to see on the wizened man. "What is your true relationship with Lily Potter?"

"You were at the trial, uncle." she answered.

"Yes, and I heard the tale. It was artfully constructed, I'm sure, but these ears have heard lies a thousand times. They recognize them. The truth, girl. Now!"

Bellatrix sighed and went through several plans in her head. She had to give him something, or Arcturus would take - or at least try to take - everything. "I'm with child."

"Oh," came from Druella. "Finally. But why did you… Rodolphus?"

Nobody ever accused Druella Black nee Rosier of being the sharpest knife in the drawer. Though, even the slowest mind in the room quickly made the connection.

"WITH HIM?!" Druella screeched.

Her mother descended into hysterics, but Bellatrix remained calm and cold. "Yes, Sirius is the father and to be true, I wouldn't have it any other way. As I told several of the women present on numerous occasions, I deemed Sirius the ideal choice for me for almost as long as I recognized boys as anything other than annoying and loud things."

"And you have been corrected in your foolishness time and time again." Cassiopeia rasped with her old but proud voice. "The House of Black doesn't deal in wishes, Bella. I thought I have taught you better."

Bellatrix shrugged. "The choice was easy. Either with Sirius or alone. I chose to be with him."

"And by doing so destroy everything we worked for." Pollux hissed out. "Over one point two million Galleons. Gone. Lost."

"As Sirius said, grandfather." Bellatrix met the old man's gaze point blank. "Shit investment."

"Insolent brat, I will…"

"You will be silent, Pollux." Arcturus commanded. He pointed his wand at the parchment and with one flick burnt it to a fine dust. "Galleons can be replaced." Arcturus stood, to which Bellatrix reacted in kind, her hand hovering over the grip of her wand.

"I see that the lines are drawn. You do not answer my question, you sit above your station, you sully the deals and dealings of the Blacks. But everybody strays, sometimes. Therefore, I give you a choice Bellatrix. You either are a blood traitor and no longer a part of this family, or…" He pulled a flask from his robes and positioned it right in front of Bellatrix on the table.

It was a potion of azure blue that bubbled slightly in the crystal flask. There was no label on either the crystal or the cork. However, Bellatrix knew what it was. She recognized the distinct color, the fumes lazily hovering in the air of the bottle.

Her voice was as cold as cursed ice. Her face split up in a toothy grin that threatened to split her lips and her eyes went wide as they focused on Arcturus. "Say it out loud, uncle. I want you to say it."

Arcturus held his wand tight. "You will terminate the child. Then you will be going to France where you will marry Raphael Lestrange. Do so and your sins will be forgotten."

Sirius was about to blast Arcturus a new arsehole, but his entire body froze when he heard the voice of his Bella.

"Leave." she hissed with such venom, had it been three months ago, Sirius would already be firing the most lethal curses he knew at her. He shivered at that one look on her face. He had been on the receiving end several times. They would leave, or she would swim in their blood. "All of you. Leave."

"Is this your last…"

"YES IT IS MY LAST WORD YOU OLD DEMENTED SACK OF SHIT. LEAVE OR I WILL BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR DISGUSTING BODY."

Arcturus couldn't even completely draw his wand before Bellatrix had hers in her hand and banished the old man against the wall with so much speed that it almost seemed like he had apparated against the wall. The rest of the table was about to draw, but Sirius was already pointing his wand at them, ready to blast anyone who tried anything into hell.

"Try me." he growled out. "Come on, make my day."

Bellatrix in the meanwhile took the potion and held it up. "WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?!" Bellatrix ran around the table, to Walburga and grabbed the old womans throat. "Was that you, you useless old hag? Did that idea come through a bit of your insane babbling? Oh, Sirius would do me so good tonight if I did you in right now, you know that? Can you imagine it? He would get a fucking hard on right now, should I Crucio you into madness and then he would dance on your corpse." She smashed Walburga's head against the chairs lean.

Her eyes shot to Cassiopeia. "Maybe it was you? Yes, you're more the type, you barren bitch. Couldn't stomach the thought that your little protege gets a child, now could you?"

She looked at her parents. Cygnus stared flatly back at his daughter, always the soldier, while Druella shivered in fear. "I hope you two burn in the depths of the abyss. I should kill you right now for shipping me off to that infertile Lestrange pig, but then again that wouldn't do well on my heroine resume. Rather I will keep you alive for as long as possible so that you can watch and despair as your daughter gets one child after another with the blood-traitor. Hell, you know what, I'll make Lily Potter the godmother of my firstborn just so that you can really look at that burn stain on the tapestry and _know_ I _earned_ that banishment."

Then Bellatrix stepped back. Her hands and body shivered with repressed violence, waiting to be released. With a throw so quick it made the entire table flinch she hurled the potion straight over everybody's heads against a wall.

"I will tell you this right now. Only once as a warning. Hurt my child - even think of hurting it - if your unworthy eyes even so much at _glance_ at my child, I will kill you."

The way she said it, the unblinking eyes staring them all down and the ice-burning venom in her tone, nobody doubted the sincerity of her words. Sirius kept silent, even though he had plenty to say. He just figured that anything he would say would not have the same power, the same threat attached to it.

"Now take that pile of rotting flesh." She pointed at the limp form of Arcturus. "and _leave_!"

Properly cowed the Black family was quick to comply. Cygnus levitated Arcturus beside him and was about to leave when he once more turned around and looked at Narcissa. The youngest of the Black sisters did not move from her chair.

"You too?" Cygnus asked.

Narcissa nodded.

"Very well," Cygnus said and with that, left the Hall and soon after, Castle Black.

Narcissa seemed to deflate. Her body sagged into the chair where she quietly began to curl up into herself.

Bellatrix was screaming bloody murder through the Hall. She cursed every single Black family member's name, colorful insults included. Had Sirius not just witnessed his family asking the mother of his child to abort it, he would have laughed at her rage. Right now, however, he felt like they weren't shooed away, but like they had escaped. He felt like the fury of Bellatrix should have found more targets than Arcturus and like he should have joined in. He kept staring at her, switching from her face to her belly every few seconds and made the same promise to his family. Should they dare touch her, or the child, he would massacre them without mercy.

"Sirius,"

He was ripped from his gory fantasies by Narcissa whispering to him. She had bloodshot eyes and looked even paler than usual. The red streaks on her cheek showed that she must have cried a lot in past hours or even days.

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't ask this if I had any other choice. But would you grant me and my son refuge?"

Sirius laughed, however, sobered quickly when Narcissa clearly misinterpreted his laugh and almost began crying again. "Hold up. Sorry Cissy, I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing because we already talked about that. You're very welcome here. Both you and… uhm…"

"Draco,"

"Yes, you and Draco." Sirius then smirked at her. "Lucius chose the name, didn't he?"

She snorted despite herself. "Yes, he did."

"Bloody useless poofter!" Bellatrix growled. She hugged Sirius from behind. Her nails dug into his stomach and she held on so tight that Sirius' shirt got ripped by her nails. "Maybe the Dementors' lips tickle his fancy. One may hope." She violently blew air out and took a deep, calming breath as she steadied herself on Sirius' back. "When are you bringing your spawn, Cissy?"

"Don't call him spawn, he's your nephew." she scolded. "If it's ok with you, I'll bring him right now. I made his pyjamas into a portkey, you see."

"Uhm, before you do that. You should know that we'll have other people living here from tomorrow on."

"Whom?"

"The Potters."

Narcissa smiled back at Sirius. "Believe me, that won't be a problem." Without any more words she touched a small piece of parchment with her wand and held out her arms. In a swirl of magic a small bundle appeared and dropped into her hands. "Remotely activated portkeys. Lily Potter's doing."

Sirius felt Bellatrix tense up at the sight of little Draco squirming in his mother's hand. Sirius however smiled down at his little cousin. He was an active little bugger, trying to free himself of his mother's arms. The poor guy got his father's hair and the steel grey eyes of Cygnus Black. Sirius could only hope he would be able to get the young one to be like neither of those two.

Bellatrix slowly moved around Sirius and cautiously held her arms out. "May… may I hold him?"

"Of course," Narcissa was surprised but didn't question it. She carefully gave Draco to Bellatrix who held the small guy like a porcelain doll.

"You can't break him." Narcissa said "See, hold him like that, Yes, that's right. Firm but not too tight."

Bellatrix calmed, as if their meeting with the Blacks had never happened. She just looked down at the gurgling and babbling Draco who gifted her a smile from time to time when he wasn't just pointing at everything in the Hall.

Suddenly Bellatrix got a huge grin on her face. "Have you planned on a sister for him?"

Narcissa frowned at Bellatrix. "With whom, may I ask?" she then quickly glanced at Sirius and back. "You can't be _that_ depraved?" she asked half-serious.

Sirius snorted and Bellatrix' grin got even broader. "Oh no - nonono - but I heard that Amelia Bones got a niece to take care of now."

"What has that to do with anything?" Narcissa tried to sound neutral, but her blush gave her away.

"Are you telling me you haven't got word from…" Bellatrix and Sirius snorted their laughter, their heads red from keeping still and their lips wounded from biting it. "from Thundertongue?" They couldn't hold any longer. Bellatrix and Sirius burst out laughing and they got even more raucous when Narcissa buried her face in her hands.

It took them a while, but eventually they sobered enough to focus on the beet red Narcissa.

"You're blasted from the tapestry, anyway." Sirius said to her. "And Bones is smoking hot."

Bellatrix kicked Sirius against the shin. He went down, glaring up at Draco who giggled at his pain.

"But Sirius is right. She would look quite nice with you in her arms." Bellatrix agreed.

"You… you think so? You wouldn't mind?"

"Mind?" Bellatrix laughed again. "I was the one who set it up. You go for it. Get someone in your bed you actually want to share it with." Bellatrix then looked down at Draco. "Also this little fellow would get a sister."

"They'll be in the same year in Hogwarts, those three." Sirius said, still rubbing his shin.

"Three?" Bellatrix quickly rummaged through her mind. "Oh yes, the Potter brat."

"His name is Harry."

"His name is brat until I say otherwise." Bellatrix declared. "Anything that came out of Lily Potter I will eye with suspicion."

Sirius stood up, hung an arm around Bella and pulled her closer to him. "You do that. Just do me one favor?"

"What?"

"Don't kill each other tomorrow." Sirius begged.

Bellatrix smirked at him, gave him a quick kiss on the lips and then smiled when she said. "No promises."

xxx

When Lily had first heard about James' plans to 'room with Sirius' as a solution to their housing problems, she was not amused. She knew the dingy old flat Sirius owned in a part of London her sister Petunia refused to acknowledge in order to preserve her worldview of good ol' Britain. She has had daydreams of her and Bellatrix having to share a room, which she knew was a stupid daydream to have but nevertheless it gave her the shivers.

As much fun it was to rile the ex-Death Eater up, she wouldn't trust that woman to keep her more violent tendencies at bay.

Her worries spontaneously combusted in her mind when she was presented with Castle Black. To be more specific, she was adamant to move into the North Tower, set up her books and lab and never leave there again. It was only James threat of withheld nightly activities that made her reconsider sleeping in the library. But then again, by broom the trip from South Tower to North Tower was barely a minute. She would have to deal with it and keep a notepad on her nightstand.

The view over Loch Lomond from the tenth level, their very own living quarters, was repaying for many minutes of missed research anyway. She was currently sitting on a broad, cushioned windowsill looking over the tranquil scene of the great long lake. She could see the Ben Lomond in the distance with its white capped top and harsh cliffs. As a London city girl she only really knew a view like this from Hogwarts. To live in a castle, to smell the distinct scent of ice cold stone dried by chimney fire again was nostalgic and amazing. Even more so when she reminded herself that this was home now.

She had Harry cradled in her arms. James had brought him from an exploration tour through the castle and the little guy was horribly exhausted. Her husband had then claimed duties at the Ministry - probably poking on Amelia's nerves to accept the invitation to dinner - and left little Harry alone with her.

Perfect.

It was perfect because there was no one here to disturb her. Sirius and Bellatrix were in their quarters on the top level of the tower, probably trying to kill each other which equates to passionate lovemaking with those two. Narcissa was fussing over Draco and would do so for hours as there was literally nothing else to do in the young woman's life. Lily swore to change that as she had liked Narcissa quite a lot in Hogwarts as a… project partner. Though right now, Lily had something else to handle first.

"Harry, darling. Wake up." she whispered and nudged her son awake. He squirmed in her arms and wiggled against her soft touches, but Lily kept nudging until the young one was woken.

He stared at her with the same shade of green her own eyes had. Then there it was, the bit she found so peculiar. Harry didn't lose focus. He stared at her, only her and waited. He didn't babble or gurgle or anything what other babies would do. He seemed to admire her, observe her as if she was some sort of supernatural occurrence. It was a strange look on a baby.

Though Lily had her theories about that.

"Harry, darling. Can you remember a week ago when Auntie Bella killed that bad man? Yes? You also remember when I said your Auntie Bella gets a baby?" Lily said that while observing Harry in every detail. Just like all those times during the last week, whenever she said 'Auntie Bella' he cringed. It was barely noticeable. Lila had thought it simple muscle jerks at first. But patterns came from repeated coincidences and patterns rarely lie.

She pulled out her wand and spoke the _Vitas Revelio_ charm. It was her very own creation, designed under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore and was specially attuned to souls and their abstract 'measurements', for a lack of a better word. Magic or non-magical? Matured or still growing? Infested by darkness or innocent like a newborn.

"This spell tells mummy all about souls, Harry. There a good souls and bad souls, big souls and small souls, or, you know," She focused his eyes onto his own. "matured souls merging with the infant soul of a one-year old."

' _Gotcha'_ she thought when Harry tensed up and looked back at her in unadulterated shock. "Yep, yep, mummy is a smart witch. Now mummy is also a curious witch, so I got something prepared for you." She picked him up and walked towards his playing corner. She sat him down in front of a stack of paper and gave him a crayon.

"Now, Harry, I want you to help me here, alright?" she smiled at him and rubbed his back to get some of the tension out of him. "I know you're not anyone but Harry. I checked, believe you me. But I also know that you're… uhm… more Harry than you're supposed to be? Makes sense? Yes, makes sense."

Harry kept staring at her with wide eyes, but she felt some of his muscles relax. Much like she had relaxed once she had analyzed his soul in his sleep. There was no outside influence, nothing attached to it, no foreign presence in it. It was just about double as much Harry as there should be. So she devised a way to communicate with a one-year old.

"I want you to answer my questions with a line as an answer. Horizontal is yes, vertical is no, diagonal is if you don't know the answer, a circle when you don't understand the question. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"See, that's the first thing that just baffles me. You shouldn't even have a concept of what horizontal and vertical means. Circe, Draco seems to have problems with the meaning and implication of up and down."

At that Harry giggled. Lily blinked and then laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. She was having a reasonably intelligent discussion with her infant son. Her grin got pretty wide at the thought of how much she would gloat at Molly 'Perfect Mama' Weasley. "You just potty train your brat. I'll have mine do Arithmancy with two years." she whispered to nobody. She then shook her head and returned to the matter at hand.

"Harry, " she begun. "Are you, or have you ever been an adult?"

Harry nodded, drew a horizontal line and then put a small, squiggly and barely readable '17' beneath it.

" Seventeen years? So you were barely an adult. Interesting. Has your mother been anyone else but me?" Lily couldn't quite keep the tremor out of her voice at that. She blew out a long and freeing breath when Harry drew a vertical line.

"Has your father been anyone else but James?"

Another vertical line.

"Do you know where or when your adult part of the soul comes from?"

Harry first drew a horizontal line. Then he stopped, mulled it over, scratched the line and drew a vertical one. Once again he scratched that one out and drew a diagonal line.

"Could you make an educated guess?" Lily pushed on, hoping that she would at least get some corner points for this mystery.

A horizontal line.

"Alright, choose one of those three , Alternate Dimension, or realm of existence that is at least in details different than this one. Two, Future and you were sent here through a timeloop having experienced all this once. Three, None of the two."

Harry drew one line, then a plus and then two lines.

"Now that's just unhelpful, Harry." Lily huffed and let her head fall into her hands to think. "Alright, alright, alright… uhm alternate dimension plus future… plus future… alternate dimension… future dimension… dimension in the future… alternate… future… alternate future. Alternate future, that's it isn't it? Your arrival has something to do with a change in the future?"

Harry smiled at her and drew a fat, horizontal line.

"But, what changed?" Lily wondered aloud.

"Aune Bewlla n Unca Sii-us." Harry said. "Volamod."

"The divergence is that Auntie Bella and Sirius… killed Voldemort?" Lily mulled a few thought over. "Bellatrix killed Voldemort because of Sirius. So, her pregnancy is the true divergence?"

A horizontal line.

"So in your… uhm… old future, Voldemort wasn't killed by Bellatrix." Lily's eyes grew wide when the realization hit. "But when you're saying you were seventeen, then that means he must've run into my blood shields. But that also means… oh no, my poor baby. You were an orphan, weren't you?"

A short, barely visible horizontal line was drawn by an softly crying Harry. Lily picked him up and pressed him against her. "Oh my baby boy." She didn't even bother holding back the tears. She just hugged her son tightly, both the one-year old who so closely escaped death and a life as an orphan, as well as the seventeen year old who must've had a life of such hardship. She felt as his arms, as weak as they were, clawed at her robes and held tight against her. He cried bitterly, with sobs rocking his body. "Now, now, hush, hush." Lily cooed. With a soft touch she rubbed his back while she pressed kiss after kiss over his face. "We're alive now, Harry. I'll be with you and your father will be with you. You have Uncle Sirius and… hehe!… even an Auntie Bella, as reluctant as she is."

Her heart fluttered when through the sobs she heard her son giggle. "You'll also have a brother and, if Narcissa gets her sh… uhm… stuff together, you also get a sister. And when Auntie Bella gets her child you'll have a younger sibling to take care of." She moved him a bit away from her, so that he once again looked her in the eyes. "No more solitude for you. You'll have a huge family." She wiped his tears and planted a big, wet kiss on both his cheeks at which his giggle once more lit up the room.

"I take it you'd also rather not play 'Smell my dodo' with Draco?" Lily asked Harry. He just shook his head, his face twisting in the best frown his young face could manage. "Would you rather I make you my young lab assistant?"

Harry stretched out his finger and drew a long, horizontal line over her forehead.

"YES!" Lily cheered, picked Harry up and then made for the door to the stairs. "Let's go, I'll show you my research." She was already out of the quarters and a good half of the way down to the next level at the end of that sentence. "You see, I'm currently making my Charms and Potions mastery, but I also kind of make my Alchemy mastery, but Albus was horribly busy fighting a war, you see. Anyway, I'm currently working on what I call a portgate. It's basically a portkey and floo-powder minus the nasty travel. I'm still having a bit of problems with the equations, but from what James told me of the spell Voldemort had used on him I may be completely on the wrong course here."

Harry just looked forlorn at her. His eyebrows were raised and he had his head slightly leaned to the side.

"Spatial deformation, Harry. Normal magical travel says Subject X must go from point A to Point B over distance N. Now most wizards only think ' How can I get over distance N?' making portkeys that move Distance N with DistanceN-Meters per second. Now I don't want to manipulate the speed with which we move, but the distance N, which is a spacial value rather than a velocity value. Comprende?"

"Uh-uh." Harry muttered and shook his head.

"Have you had arithmancy when you were in school?"

Harry once again shook his head. His head shot back up in surprise when Lily sighed in relief. She looked at his questioning glance and shrugged. "Hey, that just means you're uneducated, not an idiot." At his even more pronounced glance Lily smiled sheepishly. "Uhm… I'd still love you if you're an idiot?"

Harry burst out in giggles and hugged his mother tight. "Wuv yu doo." he muttered into the crook of her neck.

Lily felt her heart flutter again at the small words. She held her son a bit tighter just as they traversed the Entrance Hall and started climbing the stairs to the North Tower. It took them just a few minutes to reach the top level of the Tower, courtesy of some nifty little fast-mover charms on the stairs that allowed her to jump ten steps with one leap. Never let it be said that the Blacks weren't good at magic.

Once they reached the uppermost level Lily walked into her own sanctum. The laboratory was filled with her books, freed from their unworthy storage in big-bulk trunks and neatly lined in bookshelves. In the middle of the room she had two potions simmering. One was a commission for an apothecary she had worked on for a good month now. It was a peculiar potion, extremely expensive and so complex that people only trusted her with the preparation because of Professor Slughorn's recommendations. She walked Harry close to it so that he could see the yellow-violet color with the square-bubbles forming and popping on the surface. "See that? Its a Draught of most-likely Improbability. Its a close relative to Felix Felicis, if that tells you anything - and it should, by the way. Its used for… uhm…" she looked at the one-year old body of Harry and had to remind herself that in large parts she was talking to a seventeen year old. "Its used for… well, do you know Hagrid?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, his father must have drank the potion in order to… make Hagrid. You understand?"

Harry nodded reluctantly, obviously imagining the wild and in most cases deadly intercourse between a man and a giantess.

"I heard this one is for a witch who has met the love of her life after fleeing from Death Eaters." She shrugged. "Oh, wherever love may fall, if you get me, son." According to his shudder, Harry did get her.

She moved onto the next one. This one Harry seemed to know as he perked up and pointed at it. "Unca Moo-ey. Woofsbein"

Lily's smile couldn't have been brighter. "Well done. Yes, that is the Wolfsbane potion. It also, incidentally, is for your Uncle Remus. The poor guy had to deal without it for months on end now."

She then walked Harry to the south end of her laboratory where the walls were lined with blackboard after blackboard. Currently only the two she has had hanging in Potter Cottage were full of equations, numeric matrices and diagrams, but soon the whole wall would be filled and she would yet again curse the foul limitations of the blackboard. Beneath the blackboards were tables filled with potions ingredients, neatly sorted by various categories. In the middle of the rather secluded area of the room was her desk. It was a simple thing. A board on two trestles. But it was just as she liked it, without any sort of distraction. There was her notepad on it, a few pieces of parchment, a quill and a pen. Also, resting in the middle was her dissertation on Spacial Magic Charms.

"See that? That is mummy's way to becoming a Charms Mistress. I need to get it finished and then send a copy to Professor Flitwick. Would it be ok for you if I just let you roam the laboratory a bit?"

Harry pointed at the bookshelves.

"You want to read?"

He nodded.

"Alright then, let's get you a book? Stop me when I say the right topic. Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Runes, Arithmancy,..."

Harry held up his hand and nodded furiously.

"You want to read about Arithmancy?" Lily shot him a doubtful look, but Harry just pointed at the blackboards.

"You want to understand what I'm doing?"

He nodded.

Lily gave him a big kiss on the forehead and then searched for 'Numerology and You - An introduction to the mathematics of magic'. She soon found the dusty old book from her third year at Hogwarts and took it with Harry back to her table. She waved her wand and some stone she had lying around a table transfigured into a large pillow.

Harry was seated on the pillow and the book placed before him. "That's the best text to start." Lily said, unable to repress the huge smile on her face. "Once you got the basics, we'll move onto more complex concepts. But take your time with this. It's important to have the basics locked down before you twist your mind with abstracts."

Harry just nodded and began reading the text on page one without any delay. Lily looked down at him, still not quite sure what she thought about having a one-year old son who is seventeen year old in his mind. The only thing she knew was that she could deal with this one way better than with an actual one-year old. She had stuff to talk about with him and was quite happy that she didn't have to dumb herself down to make things understandable for him.

She sat down onto her table and opened her dissertation up on the marked page. Once more she looked over to Harry who was already on page two and had a concentrated look on his face.

Yes, she would enjoy this immensely. Especially the face of James when he'd realize that his son is a huge - _huge_ nerd. Serves him right for making fun of her own nerdiness for six years.


	6. Old Worlds, Modern Souls

**This one was made after I binge-watched "The Last Kingdom". Basically, its a Harry goes to the 10th century story. I planned for him to meet Rowena Ravenclaw in the body of Alrun and fundamentally change not only the wizarding world, but the world as a whole. Starting from pressing christianity back out of Northern Europe, to kick-starting some predecessor of the enlightenment. It ended, however, with the hurdles I reached by making Harry a girl in this story. It was... awkward.**

 **In any case, I may rewrite this completely. As it stand now it fits right in with the other failed experiments. Have fun with Chapter 1 and as always: If it strikes your fancy and you'd like to continue it, just PM me and I'll provide you with my notes and documents.**

Harry woke up in a place of light. From this light, tendrils began to form a place within the infinity. Pillars rose upwards and then spread out to form a ceiling. Archs of glistering bricks played with concrete made of starlight to form an ethereal place.

It was not a temple, not a place of worship or divinity. Harry found it looked much like Kings Cross station. He stood up, clad in the same clothes he had worn as he walked towards his death in the Forbidden Forest. It felt to him as if he desecrated the place with his blood-stained trousers and the grime, ashes and dirt on his shirt.

Walking on the brick floor felt like hovering in the air. He felt as if there was no ground beneath his feet and the shining stones under him were merely there to signify a plane in order to soothe his human senses. Step after step he walked further down the platform.

He stopped when he saw a waiting bench behind a pillar. There were two people sitting on it. One of them he had seen before.

"Professor?" he asked. His voice carried through the silence of the place.

The man turned around. He was so much younger, Harry wouldn't have seen his old mentor in the man had he not worn the same robes as on the day he died. His hair was a rich brown, like hazelnut and his face, the bit that wasn't covered with beard, was smooth and without wrinkles other than those smiles and laughter brought to a face. "Harry, my boy. Indeed it is I."

"How?" Harry whispered. "Am I… dead? Truly dead?"

"That, Harry, is not yet decided, I'm afraid." Dumbledore smiled at him and gestured towards a free spot on the bench. "We have much to discuss, however. Please have a seat. I want to introduce you to someone."

Harry followed Dumbledore's invitation onto a spot next to a young girl. She was maybe at the age of a First Year, but may have been even younger. She had long, wild black hair, a mischievous smile and green eyes the shade of moss. In stark contrast to her demeanor, she was looking sick, almost gaunt. She had deep circles under her eyes and even though her smile shone brightly, there was a hint of past pains in her eyes. She gave Harry a broad grin and waved at him.

"Harry, may I introduce to you your many times Great-Aunt, Alrun Peverell. She has left this earth a good thousand years ago." Dumbledore then bowed to the small girl. "Alrun, this is your nephew, Harry Potter."

"It is good to meet you, nephew." she said. "Even though I would have prefered it to be at a much later time."

"Good to meet you too." Harry sighed. He let himself sag onto the bench. "So… what is this place? Heaven? Purgatory? Can't be hell, I recon."

"This, Harry, is only known as the Inbetween. It is the world between worlds. The gateway for souls into the… well,"

"Into the Everything." Alrun whispered and made a face to show how pretentious she thought that sounded. "It is where decisions like the one you are about to make are located."

"What kind of decision is that?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. The old, young looking man had a pained expression on his face. He twisted his hands, and from time to time brushed over his beard in a nervous habit. "I have done many things in my life… Many of these things brought forth great pain. You have read about my sister in that… lovely biography of mine. Ariana, Gellert, Tom and, maybe most importantly, you, have suffered for my mistakes."

"You are speaking about the Dursleys?"

"Yes, but not only."

"The Horcrux Hunt?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"The Triwizard tournament? The Philosopher's Stone? The Ministry battle?"

At every one Albus Dumbledore nodded. With every one his face sagged more. He almost looked his actual age at the end. "Not only that, Harry. While I was alive it seemed the only way, but now it pains me to admit that I was weak. I should have been there with you, fighting. But I…" he trailed off.

"You were tired." Harry said. It wasn't a question, but a statement. "I know the feeling."

"Curse war, cruelest of the riders." Dumbledore commented, more to himself than to anyone present

Some time went by, Harry was not sure how long for time seemed only of secondary importance in this realm, in which none of the three spoke. Dumbledore seemed to lose himself in his guilt, Alrun left her legs swinging off the bench and Harry just enjoyed this small moment of perfect quiet. After a few minutes, or hours, Harry leaned forward on the bench. He stared at Dumbledore until the old man looked back.

"You said something about a decision." Harry asked both Dumbledore and Alrun.

The young girl smiled at him. "Yes. You have a few choices."

"Those are?"

"Death would be the obvious choice." Dumbledore began. "You could join your parents, your godfather, Remus and Nymphadora, Fred Weasley and all those gone before you."

"Why would I choose anything else?" Harry asked. He felt tired, wringed out and eons older than his body.

"Hear us out." Alrun snapped out. She grabbed his hands, squeezed them and implored Harry to listen by a look alone.

Dumbledore nodded and continued. "The second choice. Go back to your body. Your part is done, but the fight is not yet won."

"He still has Nagini."

"And you have still a plethora of people who know how important killing her is. She will die. So will Voldemort." Alrun pointed forward. "Look." she said as fog came from the rails and a scene formed before Harry.

It was the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It was a still-frame, as if some godly force had pressed a Pause button. Harry stood up to move closer to the picture. It was Neville holding the severed head of Nagini while swinging the Sword of Gryffindor down onto a overwhelmed Bellatrix Lestrange. It was Ron, with his cheeks full of tears and his face distorted in unholy rage, that cursed Dolohov into bloody mist with a Reducto fueled by his anger, despair and hatred for the man. And finally Harry saw Hermione before the man they had worked so hard to kill. Her face was that of a raging demon. Her eyes shone with something Harry would call bloodlust as her mouth shouted out her roar of victory. One side of her head was burned, she had a bloody gash over her chest and one of her arms was broken but she seemed not to care about anything but the broken form of Voldemort at her feet.

"Your friends, those two, would become the force of a new era. Their hatred and anger and sadness over your death - it transformed into a drive and a passion." Alrun told Harry. She waved her hands and a new scene was made from the fog.

It had Hermione standing in front of hundreds of wizards, from across the world. The side of her head was still burned, and the eye on that side was blinded, but what shocked Harry most was that she looked absolutely ancient. She stood there, clad in a crisp and strict looking robe and seemed to give a passionate speech.

"The ICW." Dumbledore said. "Mrs. Granger, as the executor of Voldemort, gained so much political clout that she won the election after Kingsley stepped from his position as interim Minister. With 21 years she was Minister of Magic. Her clean cut through our society ended ten pureblood lines, all accused of being followers of Voldemort's ideals. This image is from her speech to revoke the Statute of Secrecy in the year 2130."

"Revoke the Statute?" Harry looked baffled.

"Yes. The muggles had become so powerful, their technology so beyond anything I have ever thought possible from the people I saw fooling around with coal power during my young years, that eventually some of it surpassed magic."

"In some sense it is magic - technology I mean." Alrun interrupted.

"Quite right," Dumbledore allowed. "Intelligent thought, willpower, passion, love and hatred are not exclusive to wizards and witches. In their drive, however, they threatened this planet. Hermione Granger saw the breaking point coming and opened the wizarding world up. It proved to be the saving grace for humanity."

"What about Ron?"

"Rich as a Weasel." Alrun sing-sung.

"What?"

Dumbledore chuckled at the small girl and smiled at the scene before them. It was Ron standing in the middle of a small army of children. He too looked old, but other than Hermione who had incredible fire in her eyes, Ron looked the epitome of serenity as he watched over green fields towards a lake. Behind him stood an enormous house. On second glance Harry saw that many of the children had red hair.

"Are those his…" Harry trailed off.

"Grandchildren." Dumbledore smiled as he too looked over the scene. "Mr. Weasley had always been a great strategist. He just lacked maturity, I always felt."

"Let me guess, my death 'corrected' that."

"In some sense, yes. However, losing two brothers on one day made him… cold. Ronald Weasley ended up a great businessman, but kindness was no longer in his repertoire. Just fifty years after the Battle of Hogwarts, being 'rich as a weasel' was a phrase coined in Europe. Mr. Weasley ruthlessly took over the many businesses of Death Eaters and sympathisers who paid reparations. It was only the influence of the beautiful Gabrielle Delacour that would later soften his character and make him a world changing philanthropist."

"Why are you telling me this? This happens when I die. Why should I go back?"

"To have a family of yourself. To experience love like only a mortal can. Emotions stop having the same impact once time is no longer against you. One does not love or hate with the same intensity." Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. "I have taken many chances for you to experience that until now. It would be my dearest wish if you would go back, change Fate to whatever it would become if you don't die at the Battle."

"Or," Alrun raised a finger. "Or you choose choice number 3 which would give you the chance to die, but also the chance to live."

"Uhm…"

"What Alrun means," Dumbledore cut in. "Is that you would gain a new life."

"I'll be reborn?"

"Almost. You would take over for somebody - which is why I am here in the first place." Alrun said. "You would take over for me."

Harry held up his hands. He shook his head as he tried to wrap his head around his situation. "Why would I 'take over' for you? How would I do that?"

Alrun stood up and waved her hands once again. The scene of Ron in his giant garden faded and was replaced by an image of Alrun lying on a bed of furs and rough looking blankets. In it her body looked even more fragile, her face even more gaunt and sick. Next to her a big man, with a great beard and muscles like a brawler sat with his face in his hands as he cried. They were in a room that was barely lit, with only one window showing a clear night sky and the few lights in a city beneath it.

"This is the exact moment you would be sent to. You would get my body, my memories, but also retain your own."

"Why?"

"An experiment, if you will." Alrun bit her lip. "A question of 'What if'. What if Alrun Ragnarsdottir of the Peverell Circle wouldn't have died of Soulwither?"

"Soulwither?" Harry asked.

"A disease exclusive to magical beings. Once you have it, the disease eats away on your soul's connection to your body, not unlike a Dementor's Kiss, but slower and painful. My father, Ragnar Hagmundsson has taken it upon himself to travel to Bagdad, in the Caliphat of the Abbasids, to have me looked over by the vastly superior healers there."

"They failed," Harry said.

"But they could succeed in another timeline, another try." Alrun almost pleaded with him. "My father has never made it home from Bagdad in the original world. He was heartbroken and died in the streets of the City of Peace, just another foreigner to them. My family, my Circle… The Peverells have lost much with the death of both of us. Hagmund Thorsson, my grandfather, had to pledge the Circle to servitude… but that is all I can tell you for now, as long as you have not decided."

Harry stood still in the white and glistering King's Cross station and let everything he had heard and seen flow into him. He mulled over his options and liked neither of them very much, he had to admit.

"I live and Merlin knows what would happen to me, and to everybody else. I am done fighting. I want peace. I couldn't do what Hermione did, that much I'm sure of and Ron seemed accomplished and at peace."

"Do not base too much of your decision on their Fate." Dumbledore urged.

"I don't." Harry shot back quickly. "But it's also me who wants away from all this. What if I wake up and kill Voldemort? Just thinking about the fame and the entire wizarding world going crazy over my face is making me feel sick. I'm not just done fighting, I'm also done fighting for _this_."

Dumbledore looked pensive at Harry's answer. "I can't pretend to be ignorant of what you mean. I myself have lived many decades with this fame behind me. It was often as much burden as it was boon."

"But what will you do then?" Alrun asked. Now she looked nervous.

"You would like me to take over, don't you?" Harry looked into her eyes and had his answer already. He still waited for her to say it.

"Yes, more than anything. I believe much would be different if I grow up to become a Shieldmaiden of the Circle, or whatever you decide to do." Alrun bit her lower lip again. She turned slightly, looking at her father's image. The great man broken before his daughter's deathbed was an image as brutal as anything Harry had seen. Purest tragedy. Harry only took his eyes off it when Alrun burst out. "Please. You always die, it is inevitable. Try my life, maybe you will find fulfillment of your own in it? I cannot go back, but you could make my family free of the consequences my sickness and death brought. What do you have to lose? You can only gain a life, never lose a death."

Harry didn't answer immediately. His choices were not perfect. He could die and never experience the joy of a life. Well, not never, he mused, but more than the few days and weeks he had experienced in Hogwarts amongst his friends. If anything another life sounded like something he should want with all his heart.

It were his friends that kept him from instantly jumping onto the chance to be reborn in his original world. His fame and whatever stupid moniker people would think of should he kill Voldemort were things easily ignored. But what if, in that last stand, it would be Hermione or Ron that died in the crossfire? How would he live with the knowledge that his life came with the cost of another friend? Knowing what he knew of the lifes of his two best friends, of the things they would accomplish, he could not risk going back. Despite what Dumbledore urged him to do, it was the Fates of those two which was all that counted for Harry.

Yes, they were better off staring at his grave in memory, he decided.

So, there was only one choice for Harry left. He sighed and looked at the small girl in front of him. That girls body would be his for decades to come. The idea of being a woman didn't scare him as much as he would have thought and if he was honest with himself, not knowing what was to come, a new adventure with a world that had never known Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, excited him. In the end Alrun was right. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

"Alrun. I accept. What do I have to do?"

The little girl's smile brightened even the light-filled place they were in. With one swift move she jumped at Harry and hugged him. "Thank you." she repeated over and over. Then, after a while, she stepped back and waved her hands once. "A few things before you go. I was a squib when I lay dying. The Soulwither had already consumed my magic. You will wake up with your own magic intact, so you may give my father - our father? - a bit of a scare. He thinks his daughter is dead. He is a loving father and not ashamed to show it. Expect bone crushing hugs." she said with a grin. "And finally, take a deep breath when you feel like you're suffocating."

"Wait, wha…" Harry shouted as white mist engulfed him. He felt his body dissolve into light. The fog came around his eyes and suddenly he saw himself, or rather, his body, standing still while it was breaking apart like soft tissue in acid. His mind, soul, whatever it was started accelerating away from the platform. At first slowly, like a brisk walk, but then it became faster and faster until he saw the light stretch and the Inbetween go dark around him.

His lungs burned as if someone had lit a fire in them. His heart ached as it beat, threatening to break his rib bones with every move of the muscle. His back was stiff and every twitch felt like needles in his spine.

He tried to breathe, but his mouth wouldn't open. His nose was clogged. He tried to pull open his lips, but they were as if glued together. Harry panicked. He tried moving his hands, to open his mouth by force. But there was nothing more than a twitch of his fingers when he tried. In his fear his eyes shot open. He was blinded by the light of torches and a candle.

"Wh… ALRUN!" he heard a rumbling, powerful voice from his side. As soon as big hands moved under him, Harry remembered. Ragnar Hagmudsson, Alrun's father was in the same room. The big man helped him up and with a tender touch, so unexpected for such big hands, he opened Harry's mouth.

Harry felt bile come up and almost choked on it as he coughed the disgusting, blood-soaked stuff out. But as disgusting as it was, as freeing was it for his lungs. Harry took big gulps of air. It tasted like wax, incense and such things as sweat, blood and potions, but Harry would take toxic fumes over suffocating right at that point.

Once he had calmed down, Harry found himself pressed against Ragnar. The muscular arms entwined him, hugged his entire body. But even though the biceps of the man was bigger than Harry's fragile torso, the hug was as soft and tender as if pillows would press against him. Hairy, meaty and sweaty pillows, but such nonetheless.

"Alrun," the big man whispered. "I… I thought you were…" he trailed off in a heart-wrenching sob.

Harry didn't think much at this point, but it surprised him how easy one word came from his lips. "Father."

The word had always been reserved for James Potter before. Not the man, surely. The face he saw on pictures and the character he had described to him in various stories. Those were 'father' to him. But the more he thought about it, the more the word came with an image of him running around a farmstead, Ragnar behind him who pretended like he had troubles catching him. That word came with an image of Ragnar holding him in the carriage from Syria to Bagdad. It should have been wrong, Harry thought, but it felt true and right to call this man his father. Alrun's father and now his own.

That would be a concept he'd have to wrap his head around.

It was surreal when he looked down on his body. His body, his limbs, his hands and feet, were all so tiny. The only thing that didn't change from his Horcrux Hunt riddled body was the malnutrition and the gaunt look of it. He was clad in a simple linen dress, but he felt how many of his ribs would be visible, how pointy his hip bone pressed against his skin. He felt how weak his muscles were, barely able to move his bones.

But at this moment, Harry didn't waste too much thought on it. He revelled in the fact that it hadn't been a dream, that he truly was Alrun now, in this world. Alrun Ragnarsdottir, Harry repeated in his head. He was unsure if he would ever feel like her. If sometimes the name would register as his own in his mind.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a small bowl pressed against his lips.

"Drink," came the simple command from his father.

Harry did so, even though the liquid, whatever it was, burned him slightly in the throat. He could only take small gulps, less he feared his stomach would send it right back at him.

While drinking Harry heard the door to the room opening. Some people came in. They spoke in a hectic language he couldn't understand, and when he tried to pry his own mind for it, he remembered that Alrun also never did understand it.

Ragnar, however, answered in the language, though his accent made it almost sound like another tongue entirely.

"Alive?" one of them asked. He had a heavy accent. When Harry looked through Ragnar's arms, he saw a bearded man in a bright yellow robe. He had a silver dagger in his large belt and his head was clad with some sort of cloth Harry only knew from movies in arabic settings. "Impossible. Your daughter. A gift from god, Ragnar. Soulwither, no one survives. No one, only blessed people."

"It is my experience that the gods, any gods, are always on the side of the strong and the skillful. My daughter is strong like a giant. You are healers of unmatched skill. I thank you, Bahadur."

"God is great, my friend. God is great. I will bring potions for muscles and bone."

The next days, Harry spent drinking and digesting the most horrid potions he had ever tasted. If he had thought Madam Pomfrey had some gruesome tasting stuff in her cupboards, he had not tasted early medieval magical potions. Those things tasted like scooped up feces and were delivered in way larger quantities than modern potions for the same or even weaker effects.

On the bright side, he got to introduce his Harry side of the brain to Ragnar. The man was enormous, at least 2 meter and a broad as two men with muscles that would make any man think twice of approaching this human giant. As if that wasn't enough, he had a blond beard with braids and small iron trinkets in it. His hair was long and wild, with some small braids in it that were bound by amulets and the like. The man never left her side. When he felt the need to leave the room he made sure Bahadur, the resident Master Healer, held vigil over Harry.

The conversation they had seemed to activate the dormant memories of Alrun in a way. Most importantly, Harry incorporated the new kind of language, not quite English, but getting there, into his mind. Understanding it was a surreal experience at first, as if he had a little translator in his head, but he quickly made use of Alrun's mind. Whenever a new word or name was dropped, his brain seemed to cram the relevant memories from some deep place in his mind. They spoke about their Circle, of Hagmund Thorsson, the Head of the Circle of the Peverell, and of how glad the old man would be at their arrival back home.

Harry remembered his - Alrun's siblings. Hagmund, Alfhild and young Ragnar, her elder siblings as well as Asger, her younger brother. His younger brother? Harry would be the first to admit that it was confusing to think of himself as Alrun. Not only because he knew her from his short stint in the Inbetween, but also because of the many different sets of expectations that he was confronted with. Especially weird was to listen to his father as he spoke of Harry marrying the eldest son of the Longinius family, one of old roman blood, that headed a small town south of Peverell Hall.

Harry frowned at that, but Ragnar waved that off by claiming she was but a young girl and of course Alrun Ragnarsdottir would make any man fight for her hand. Harry meanwhile swore to break some social taboos and find himself a nice shieldmaiden or the like.

Two weeks later Harry was able to stand up the first time. His feet still hurt whenever he did a step, but it was the best the healers could do. The rest, Bahadur claimed, was a matter of time and rest. Harry would have to eat and drink as much as his body could get and walk as little as possible, but not too little as his muscles needed the training.

Ragnar's solution was as pragmatic as Harry knew and got to know the man. As they were led from the hospital outside, Ragnar carried his daughter on his arm. It was also the first time Harry has seen in him in his full gear. Two waraxe were hanging on his belt and in his baggage there was a fierce looking sword of dark steel with black leather, next to an oaken staff that the man used for his magic. His body was only covered around his hips and upper legs, as he claimed that the arabic sun would end him, had he worn his clothes made for the climate of Northern Europe.

Ragnar walked through the Entry Hall of the hospital. He waved at the many healers who have helped the man over his despair and sorrow over the last months in which the danish warrior had seen his young girl slowly and painfully die.

Once the gate opened Harry gasped at what he saw. The hospital was located on a small hill outside the city and his room's window had only shown the vast sands of the desert. Now he was looking at the great city of Bagdad, with its palaces and basars, its broad roads and narrow alleys. On the horizon, to the south, Harry saw a mountain, but not in any shape he had ever seen. It was jagged and broken, though through the blinding light of the sun he could only see its silhouette.

"The Tower of Babel." Ragnar simply said. "Mans effort to reach heights we were not meant to reach. Some heights, Alrun, are just for the gods to see."

"How have they built it? I thought it was a mountain."

Ragnar started walking towards the city. His walk was slow, and his steps deliberate as he formulated an answer. It had Harry once again marveling at his new father, who was the epitome of a wild warrior, just to wield the mind of a wise man once he sees himself faced with intellectual problems.

"They have built it with skill beyond our reach. Great men they were, the Babylonians. Some say greater than the Greeks, or Romans, or Egyptians ever were. I cannot answer you, for I fear any answer that would do the truth justice is beyond each of our comprehension."

"Can we not investigate? Build it just like them and learn?"

Ragnar let out his trademark laughter. A roaring, loud bellow from deep within him. He then hugged Harry a bit closer to him. "I'll say it again and again. It is good to see you healing." He then looked back at the Tower and hummed. "Maybe. Not I, of course. I have chosen my crafts and pursuits." He then looked back at Harry and smiled his broadest smile. "But you, my daughter. You may still build a Tower of Northumbria. Or how about the Pyramids of York?"

"The Coloss of Cambridge." Harry said and couldn't help but giggle, a sound that once more reminded him that he talked with the high and still rather croaky voice of Alrun.

"Ah, but for all that we must get home first." Ragnar pointed at a arch that led deep into one of the exotic bazaars. "And to do that we have to find us the greatest steed this land has to offer."

"Are we traveling home already?" If he was honest, Harry would have preferred to explore Bagdad first. The deeper they went into the narrow alleys, the more detail he saw. It began with colorful stands of spices and dried fruit, leading into the cavern of a silk-dealer, followed by the loud haggling of a man who sold dried leaves of some plant Harry thought he recognized.

Ragnar followed Harry's gaze. "Khat, they call it. You chew it and it works on your mind like any ale or wine."

Harry knew he had seen those leaves before. Dudley had chewed them in order to get his appetite down. Not much good that did him, but his fat cousin seemed to enjoy the buzz of them more than the barely recognizable weight loss. But of course he couldn't say that to Ragnar. Instead Harry decided to go for the nine-year old routine. "So they make you stupid like ale does?"

"HA!" Ragnar boomed. "Aye, that they do."

They walked on through the crowded bazar. Ragnar easily cut a way through the mingling crowd though. The blond haired foreigner with muscles like an ox wasn't someone anyone planned on disturbing.

It was also that effect that had the dealer of a small shop in the bazar pale at the sight. Ragnar greeted the man with a broad smile and some butchered Aramaic. Harry looked around in the shop and quickly got a broad grin on his face. Black leather hung around the shop. In a cupboard behind the shopkeeper he saw black hooves fixed with talismans and amulets. There were stacks of neatly counted hairs in another cupboard and to finish it all off there was an entire wing of a Thestral hanging on one wall.

While Harry was looking around the shop, Ragnar was arguing with the shopkeeper. The small man had quickly regained his facilities and was now haggling with Ragnar. They were shouting with each other when finally the shopkeeper grabbed Ragnars hand. Harry thought that would have been the settling of the deal, but then stood corrected. Rather than deal, they began to haggle even more with each other. Ragnar packed his sword on the table and cut some of the more precious amulets from braids in his hair. One was even made of gold and had an impressive amber stone in it.

During the haggle, Ragnar suddenly looked at Harry. "What is your favorite color, Alrun?" he asked.

"Uhm...Green?" Harry answered, unsure of what was happening.

Ragnar barely heard the answer before he continued haggling. He pointed at several stands around him and then to the Thestral wing on the wall.

The shopkeeper nodded and with a violent shake of hands, the deal seemed settled. Ragnar grabbed the sword and the amulets from the table and waited for the shopkeeper to get a small boy away from a game and onto the table in the middle of the shop. He gave a few instructions, pointed at Ragnar and then went out of the shop. Ragnar followed him.

As they walked the shopkeeper grabbed several rolls of silk and a beautiful dress made of pure, white silk which he put in a equally pure linen sack.

At Harry's questioning glance Ragnar explained. "I have made a deal with this man for a herd of Death Horses, silk, and this dress for your sister's marriage. The Christian she is marrying…" Ragnar pulled a face when he said that. "They hold elaborate feasts when they marry. To have Alfhild wear a silken dress of Bagdad will show our generosity and riches. Yours will be made of the green silk this man has given us."

"All that for a sword and amulets?"

"All that for amber. The sword and the other amulets are just small coin to this man. But amber - amber is worth a thousand goblin coins to him. I'm sure he will buy himself into the Caliphs good graces with it."

"But why a herd of The… Death Horses?"

"I plan on breeding them. Their hair… it holds a connection to magic, much like the hair of a unicorn. If a Seidr burns them, strong magic is set free. Their leather is strong and sturdy. Their hooves, grinded to dust and drunk with water, give you visions of impending danger. And most important of all, they fly and can carry two men of my size with shall make a fine addition to our farmsteads, don't you think?"

Harry only nodded in answer. What else was he to say? He knew, from Alruns memories that she had never seen those beasts before. Telling Ragnar that any farmer would have to see death first before he could breed those horses would beg the question of how she knew that.

From the bazaar, they once again stepped out into the blazing heat of the desert. They entered some sort of marketplace for animals. Cows, camels and goats were only the most mundane of the many species on sale. Harry could barely keep up with looking, so many different magical creatures were there. There was a bunch of people standing around an agitated unicorn shouting between each other. On the other side was a chained and shackled sphinx on a leash, led away by soldiers that looked like they worked for someone exceedingly rich. There were Erumpents leashed onto large boulders, next to something that looked like a mammoth, but with ten tusks coming from its mouth. Weird was the view onto a stand filled with hovering leashes in cages, next to a man who looked like he came from east asia.

"The Invisible Ape." Ragnar helped out. "The man of the Land farthest East sells them for prices, others buy farmsteads for. Their hair make cloaks that can hide you in plain sight."

Harry wanted to answer when he felt a pull in his mind. He quickly turned around and stared in the eyes of a falcon with purple-blue feathers. It was hard to pull his eyes away from the bird, as if his gaze was glued to the stare of the falcon. When he finally got his eyes away from the bird, Harry saw a knowing smile on the trader of the majestic bird. Not taking his eyes off Harry, the trader unleashed the falcon. With one mighty swing of its wings it started towards Harry. But instead of clawing at him, the bird landed on Ragnar's shoulders, right next to Harry's head.

His father stopped and turned his head, flinching as he saw what had landed on him. An annoyed eyeroll followed as the trader came with a cheerful "Shlama!"

Harry meanwhile didn't mind any of that. Instead he held his fragile little arm out. The falcon hopped onto it, and Harry thought the bird was careful with where it got its claws before it settled down. Not one scratch was on Harry's arm, even though its claws were razor-sharp. He scratched the bird at the breast, just like he had done with Hedwig. Like Hedwig the bird closed its eyes in bliss at the petting.

"Alrun?" Ragnar looked down on the scene with some sort of resignation. But whatever he tried to say next was interrupted by the trader as he approached.

"Your daughter, foreigner?" the man said in the same accent Harry had come to link to the Aramaic language of Bagdad. "A great… you say seidr; a witch she must be. The Rukh Falcon sees it."

"She is no witch." Ragnar pressed out of his teeth. There it was again, the pain in his eyes when he reminded himself that his daughter would not continue his legacy of magic.

But the trader would not back off. "You are sure? The falcon never judges wrong. Especially the females, like the one on your daughter's arm."

Ragnar sighed and looked down to Harry. "Do you like the falcon?"

Harry nodded before even thinking about it. The feeling he had when he looked in the eyes of the falcon was akin to the one he had with Hedwig. He had sworn, after her death, to never own an owl again. Never again would he have a familiar. But the Rukh Falcon on his arm made all those oaths to himself forgotten.

Without further ado Ragnar stretched his hand out to the trader. "Make me a good price." he growled out before the haggling once more changed to Aramaic and Harry was out of his depth. This time it didn't take as long. The falcon was sold for twelve 'Goblin coins', a currency, Harry observed, that seemed to be in the pockets of almost every man from every corner of the earth. Ragnar handed the man the coins that only vaguely reminded him of modern Galleons, and the man in return handed Harry a leather leash and cap for the falcon.

Once the deal was done, they caught up with the waiting Thestral-breeder who had spent the waiting time talking with a trader who dealt in dragon scales and horn.

"A beautiful creature. You may want to leash it, less I paid to set a bird free." Ragnar smiled down at Harry.

But Harry would have none of that. He knew the falcon would not leave his side. "Its loyal to me now." he said to his father. "I feel it."

Ragnar didn't answer, but he kept looking at his daughter with scrutiny while they walked towards the Death Horses. The falcon kept sitting on his arm, as if holding vigil over his own brood.

Once they reached the enclosure with the leashed together Thestrals, Ragnar once again shook the breeders hands. He took from him the linen sacks with the silk and dress, as well as the master leash for the herd of Thestrals. It was fastened to the biggest of the Death Horses, which looked ancient in comparison to the others.

"Ride this one. The others will follow." the breeder said. "They will land when they feel you tire. They never need rest themselves. You remember how to care for them, foreigner?"

"Yes. I took note of your instructions last time." Ragnar replied.

"I remember." the man smiled. "A northerner that writes. A rare sight."

Ragnar let out his roaring laughter and said goodbye in Aramaic. The breeder bowed before him, took the sword and amulets, and left to go back to the bazaar. With just one hand Ragnar sat Harry onto the biggest Thestral and mounted the horse behind his daughter. With one hand he held Harry close to him while the other kept his baggage safe on his back.

"We will ride home in one flight. These beasts never tire and neither will I. You keep your falcon close by and hold onto my arm, understood?"

"Yes, father."

"Then let us leave the desert. I had enough sand in my nose for a lifetime." Ragnar laughed and with barely a gesture, the Thestral herd took off and soared into the sky.

Not for the first time did Harry curse his disease ridden body. He was still weak and easily tired. So when the herd flew over the Byzantine Empire, Harry already fell asleep. He fought the sleep with all he had, because under him a new world opened up. It was beautiful beyond anything he had ever seen. They had flown over the holy city, Jerusalem, over Syria and its many roman ruins, took the path over the sea towards Sicily and eventually Harry's eyes closed shut when they saw Constantinople on the horizon.

Harry woke up from a feeling of frost on his face. Beneath the Thestrals, white fields stretched from south to north, from east to west, with the vast blue of the North Sea to their right promising a close end to their journey. Harry was covered in fur and linen, with his falcon against his belly and Ragnar behind his back. The big man was still without cloth on his upper body, but he was not shivering. Steadfast he looked to the horizon. Again and again he gently pulled Harry close to him, as if to check that his most valuable treasure on this journey was still with him.

"Soon, Alrun." he shouted through the icy wind. "I see Bamburgh on our right. Now we only have to find our Hall from up here and we will be home at last."

Ragnar steered the Thestrals inland after they passed the fortress of Bamburgh to the east. Harry was unsure as Alrun's old memories had no references for him to hold onto, but Ragnar seemed to have places of interest that he followed. There were small farms all over the place in an almost regular pattern from each other. Between them were woods so thick that even through the leave-less trees it was hard to see the ground.

Suddenly Ragnar cheered loudly through the wind. "Ahead of us! Look, Alrun, Peverell Hall!"

Harry gasped when he saw the great wooden building, made of logs thick as a human and stone as a base. It was situated next to a lake with a small island in it and around it many smaller houses stood like several rings around it. Peverell Hall, one of the great settlements west of Bamburgh, was at least three stories tall. Its roof was made of so much reed it must've taken an entire lakes worth of it to cover the building and its walls were of the sturdiest wood the forest would produce.

Right in front of the hall was a wide free area on which some children played and a group of men cut planks from logs. They all stared into the sky, with the exception of a few children who were lucky enough to have not seen death yet. They too stared when Ragnar landed the herd in the middle of the place, loudly greeting the people he recognized and even those whose faces he did not know.

"It's Ragnar!"

"Ragnar, you're back!"

"Someone get old Hagmund!"

People shouted over each other in excitement at the return of the long gone son of the Chief of the village. Ragnar greeted them all with a broad smile on his face, but he did not stay for long. He grabbed the bundle of furs with Harry in it and made his way to the Hall. The Thestrals he just leashed to some pole in the yard. They would not run, so he knew. But before all else, Ragnar made sure to get his daughter to a fireplace, less the winter would do what the Soulwither couldn't.

The entry into the Hall was almost like a King's. People followed Ragnar into the Hall, eager to see the family reunite. Gasps and shocked silence greeted them, followed by cheers and hollering with just as much, if not more excitement.

"Ragnar! My son!" An old man shouted as he walked into the main hall of the building. He seemed to have been once as mighty as Ragnar himself, but age and life had driven the old man to hunch. His hair was long, braided and white as snow, just like his beard that went down to his chest. "You have returned. We have feared the worst after a year."

"Father, it is good to see you. But let me through to the hearth first." He lifted the bundle up and removed some of the fur so Harry could be seen by the people around him. "I have someone with me who needs the warmth of a fire."

"Is that? How?" Hagmund was frozen in place, looking like he was seeing a ghost.

"Hello, grandfather." Harry said with a bit of a smirk on his face. "It's been a while."

Hagmunds face was almost split by the smile he had on his face. The old man guided Ragnar to the hearth, a pit full of fires and offered the man a place on a long bench. With utmost care, Ragnar sat down Harry. Glad to be free of the confinement, the falcon soared up into the Hall, shouting bloody murder at anyone who tried to catch it. It found rest high up in the roof where it kept watch over her mistress down at the hearth.

Hagmund was about to talk to Harry when the entire Hall was filled with a heart wrenching shout of "MY BABY!" followed by loud sobs. Through the still open gate came a woman in the middle of her life, with black hair like coal. Harry immediately found who that was in Alruns memories.

"Mother," Harry croaked, his voice still weakened from the disease. But words were unnecessary. His mother hugged him while big tears streamed from her face. Harry knew that the proud woman was acting like barely anyone had ever seen her. Astrid Guthramsdottir was a shieldmaiden and seidr with more kills on her name than some of the other warriors of the village. She showed little emotion in any situation. Seeing her dissolving in tears only made Harry realize how the loss of Alrun and Ragnar in his old world must have impacted the village.

But all those thoughts he held for later. Right now he marveled at the softness of the embrace and the feeling of safety in the hug of his new mother. Astrid soon pulled Ragnar into the embrace, stammering through her sobs. "You brought her home. Thank you, thank you…"

Ragnar just pressed a tender kiss on his wife's head and then turned to his father. "What happened during my absence? I hope it was peaceful."

Hagmund frowned at that. "Less peaceful than we hoped. The Christians,.." Hagmund spat on the floor. "They listen to priests from the south. Those priests want the Seidr of our lands and those of the Norse, and the Witches of the Britons and Scots dead. Unholy bastards the lot of them."

"Alfhild?"

Hagmund snarled as he gestured to a young boy Harry didn't recognize to bring him something. "Took her, those Saxon horsefuckers. The Leofas have a Warlock. We had only Seidr and warriors so in order to keep this village standing, I decided to… keep the peace."

"I see," Ragnar growled out. Harry observed in detail how every muscle in the big man's body tensed, his jaw worked and his eyes burned with barely controlled fury. "When was this?"

"Two months ago, before the first snow."

Ragnar stood up then. He looked around the people in the Hall and gave them a slow, deliberate once over. "They have stolen my daughter. Is that what you are telling me, father?"

"Aye," Hagmund nodded slowly.

"Then I ask you all," he gestured to everyone in the Hall. "To keep silent of my return for now. We cannot let the Leofas know I am here. Those of you who are warriors, I call you to arms, my friends." Then he turned around to his wife. Astrid had the same fury in her eyes, only colder. She had endured the loss of two daughters for two months now and her heart was full of cold rage. She only nodded, pressed a searing kiss onto Harry's head and stood up.

Ragnar took armor and fur from a stand at the side of the hall, long unused but in pristine condition. The armor was his, made from fine metal and leather. The furs were a pure black and Harry remembered his father telling him of black wolves in the North he had once hunted. Then he pulled a sword from a chest. It was as long as Harry was tall and shone with an unnatural green in the light of the fire. Its grip was made of black dragonscale and its handguard of a black steel.

Astrid soon returned with potions and herbs hanging off of her. Her face was painted in a way that made her many tattoos stand out prominently and her eyes shone with the blue-white of lightning. She held a waraxe in one hand and a staff with an amber on the tip in the other. "I am ready, love."

Ragnar turned around and looked to his daughter. Harry looked back, unsure of what to say, but once again, words were not needed. He understood. He was to sit tight, get healthy and wait for his parents to return with his sister. They all understood and without welcoming feast, without celebration, even without much words but whispered good wishes, Ragnar and Astrid left the Hall. Following them were a good two dozen men and women.

It grew silent in the Hall once the gate was closed. With the silence Harry felt heavy loss settle on him. He knew his father could take a day of flight and then go out and get his daughter back without breaking a sweat. He knew his mother was a powerful Seidr. But still the heavy weight of worry settled down upon him and he felt like crying.

His falcon landed on his shoulders and nudged his head. It took some of the edge off the worry, but it was like a drop of water on hot stone.

"What a beautiful bird. What is its name?" Hagmund asked as he sat down onto the bench next to Harry.

"Minerva." Harry said without thinking about it. It just fit. The falcon had the same kind heart as his old Professor, but also the same strict and predatory gaze.

"The Roman's goddess of… poetry, was it? Have you learned on your journey, Alrun?"

"Many things, yes." Harry answered his grandfather.

"Are you worried?" Hagmund asked. "About your father and mother? About Alfhild?"

"Yes," Harry admitted and the nine year of part of him made it sound meek. "Are young Hagmund, young Ragnar and Asger here?"

"Asger is resting, as his age still demands of him. Ragnar is out hunting and should return later today or tomorrow. Hagmund has travelled to the North."

"Why has he gone there?"

"To speak on our behalf to the Circles of the North. You see, Alrun, it is no longer safe here. And now that we have our Chieftain back, and our little shieldmaiden," Hagmund petted Harry's head at that, "We can think about leaving this place to seek our luck in the north."

"Is it the Christians?" Harry asked. His memories had nothing on the situation, but he could add two and two together with the bit of historical knowledge he took from his old world.

"Not all of them, Alrun. Most just have a different god than we do. But some - some want us harm and as Fate made it, those are the ones ordering the others around."

"But isn't the North also full of monasteries? What would change?"

Hagmund smiled down at Harry. He then chuckled and slowly shook his head. "Ah, it is a pity the Soulwither has taken your magic. You would have made a fine apprentice of my craft. So knowledgable, even at your age."

Harry squirmed at that. He hadn't told his father yet. He could feel the magic in him, just like it had always been there. Harry sighed and decided to just get it over with. "About that…"

Hagmund raised his eyebrow at his granddaughter, but remained still to let her finish.

"I think I still have it. I still feel it, anyway."

"Hmmm…" Hagmund murmured. "That should not be possible. But then again, it should also be impossible for you to be here, alive and well." He stood up and went over to a small trunk that two women used as a table for their sewing. He ushered them away and grabbed a small bottle from within before returning to the bench at the hearth. "Tip your finger into the bottle." Hagmund ordered.

Harry did so and let his index finger be wetted by the liquid within. When he looked at it he saw the blood-red, almost black stuff sticking on it.

"Point it at the hearth, at one of the unburnt logs and say ' _Skeutanan Haithjö od Logi'_ " Hagmund said.

Harry looked for a good log on the side of the hearth and aimed his finger at it. He felt stupid without a wand, but if anything, six years at Hogwarts had taught him to just roll with it when it came to magic. " _Skeutanan Haithjö od Logi"_ Harry said and he felt how something formed in his arms, deep within the bone and then, with one sudden shot, magic pressed out from the skin that was covered in the liquid and shot at the logs in the form of a small tongue of flame.

"By Odin, you really do have magic." Hagmund whispered. "The gods do like to play their games with my old heart. I thought it would jump out of my chest when you produced that flame."

Harry, frankly, wasn't impressed at all. The flame had barely heated the air around them and without any cinder it didn't even set the logs aflame. It was nothing like an Incendio spell and with an incantation that threatened to knot his tongue. For some reason Harry also didn't think it was because he had no wand to use. The magic just didn't feel like it wanted to produce a flame then and there, which was all the theory Harry could formulate in his mind. He filed that away to think about later, like so many other things. "Will I learn, then?" he asked his grandfather.

"Yes, Alrun, no doubt. I shall teach you myself in the Arts of the Wizard. At least what is appropriate for a girl. Your mother shall teach you the ways of the Seidr. And once you are old enough, maybe you shall learn from a Witch."

That was news to him. Harry shook his head and, once again, just took it a face value for now. But he wouldn't budge on one special aspect. "Why can't I learn all the magic of a Wizard?" Harry knew he was poking the ugly beast of social taboos, but didn't care much about it. He wanted all magic to be his, not just the bit old men reserved for women.

Hagmund, however, didn't seem to take his granddaughter seriously. He just laughed at her question and once again patted her head. "You will learn what you are allowed to learn. Such are the ways." he said, with but a hint of warning in his voice and then that was that. Hagmund took off a tangent about magic and its mystical ways, all packed in tales about great Warlocks, powerful Seidr and the many gods of the norse pantheon as well as elves, jotunn, giants, dwarves and whatever else the old man could think off from the top of his head.

Harry and Minerva sat still, just listening to the old man talk. After who knew how long, women of the village brought something to eat for both of them and people began to file into the Hall to drink and eat together. It was growing dark outside and before Harry knew it he was ushered to bed. He fell asleep on many layers of fur and linen, with his falcon holding vigil right next to him. It was peaceful and Harry quickly had sleep embrace him.


	7. The Matriarch

The Matriarch

 **Prologue: Death's Theatrics**

Harry had enough wit left to know that falling into pure white after being hit by the Killing Curse only meant one thing. It was over. It was done with.

During his walk into the Forbidden Forest he had made his peace with the fact that his dreams for life were not to be. He had been destined, from birth, to die for a cause. There was anger in him. Who wouldn't be angry after being told that the life one leads was only tool to end another? The only purpose his life served was to snuff out someone else's. It was even worse, since the snuffing out part wasn't even done yet. He would have to trust his friends to complete the task and rid the world of the monster Voldemort.

Because there he was, in this White, waiting for something to happen to him in the afterlife. The silver lining on the horizon was that now he would finally get to meet his parents. He would see Sirius again and could tell Cedric that he was sorry for not being better back then. A ludicrous thought, he admitted, yet it had kept him awake at night.

"None of that, now." a voice, so ethereal as if the night sky formed a mouth and spoke, came from behind him.

Harry tried to turn, yet it felt more like the white world around him shifted. His body remained standing, unmoving and while the white world turned he kept stable in its middle.

"That is, because this world is you. All there is in here is centered around the nucleus of your soul - your very existence."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, yet he had a feeling he knew. "Death?"

"Right in one, Mr. Potter." the voice said, yet a body, or even a shade of where it came from was not to be seen.

"Where are you?" Harry asked. When he looked around, the white world turned up and down, left and right, but Death was not to be seen.

"Where Death is? Everywhere, of course. I am the universal, basic principle of life. Do you honestly believe I would need a body?"

"It would make talking to you easier."

"Hmm," the voice breathed out. "Fair enough." it said and right in front of Harry a white mist formed into the rough shape of a human body.

"Maybe you would enjoy seeing this?" Death said and shaped into the carbon copy of Albus Dumbledore. "Hello, my dear boy. Forgive an old man the intrusion… or maybe you would like to see something more like this…"

Albus Dumbledore's shape liquified and reformed into another shape like water shapes inside a container. When the liquid shape solidified, Harry saw his mother standing in front of him, fire-red hair and blazing green eyes that looked at him with pride.

"You don't need a body, but you feel the need for cruelty?" Harry asked Death.

The mockery of his mother rubbed her chin and frowned at his question. "Cruelty? No. That wasn't my goal at all. You were the one insisting on redundancies. If I need a body so you'll listen, I just take from your mind the ones you're most likely to listen to."

Harry shrugged and the white world moved a little as if it had a hiccup. "Good choices, then."

"I thought so too." Death, still wearing his mother's shape said proudly. Then she became serious, straightened up and focused him with the same green eyes he saw in the mirror. "Now, to why I'm here."

"There is more to dying than just… dying?"

"No, of course not. But you are not dying." Death said as if that was the most basic of knowledge, explained to a child.

Harry could only frown. He didn't know how to answer Death incarnate, while standing in a pure white world, at the reveal of his non-death.

"Is that a surprise to you? Does that shock you, even?"

"It's not something I expected to happen after getting a Killing Curse in the face."

"The magic of the soul really took a dive for the obscure since all that Herpo business." Death mused, but shook away any stray thought fast. "In any case, I got the soul that was due… even if its… not exactly first hand. More like what you'd find while trash diving some demonic realm. Ew."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, but the moment he spoke the question, he knew the answer. "The Horcrux. You're taking the soul-piece, but not me? That doesn't seem like an e..." he stopped himself. Even if he was in limbo, and somewhat in an existential crisis, he would not advertise to Death the tipped scales on that deal.

"Like an equal trade?" Death finished for him. "No. It isn't. But I have to accept it. Conflicting interests, you see?"

"No. To be honest, I don't see. Whats happening now? Are you keeping me or are you sending me back…"

"Yes, that. We're gonna do that."

"Sending me back?" Harry scoffed. "That's gonna be a quick detour. The moment I wake up he'll just cast another curse on me."

"Not back to the forest, you numbnut." Death gave back exasperated. "Send you back, as in… back in time. The Weavers have decided to unweave a lot of the fabric around Gaia… just for their widdle special boy."

It wasn't hard to discern that annoyance was an understatement when it came to Death's opinion on his return, or whatever it was. Yet, Harry decided to not play on it and just push on forward. If he could go back and redo all of the crucial wins and failures of his life, he could save hundreds, including many of his friends and allies.

"These… Weavers. Why do they send me back?"

"I think they disliked the knot you left a bit too much. Plenty of knots in the fabric of the universe, but yours is worthy of a reset… or so I'm told, anyway."

"And you are here, because? Are they too shy to face me?"

"No." Death simply answered, but the predatory grin on the face of his mother's shape made Harry sufficiently uneasy.

"Then why? Why are you here?"

"In return for your rebirth, I made them give me some concessions. You see, I greatly dislike seeing something twice. I can do without you bumbling around for eighteen years only to be offed. That was… meh. Seen better."

"You're gonna handicap me? Just… for fun?"

"Nooo, that's too harsh, it's… just… shake it up a little. Make it a bit more exciting for everybody involved." Death quipped cheerfully, yet the predatory grin didn't go away. If anything it even intensified as Death waved her hands and drew letters into the air. The letters soon formed blurred out sentences, and, to Harry's further confusion, checkboxes.

"The Weavers say I need to give you the chance to choose." Death snipped with her fingers and the sentences became sharp and intelligible. "You may take two options."

There were three options, so Harry soon felt he had no other choice but to make lemonade out of the lemons Death presented before him. The three choices to leave out were all bad.

His choices read:

Be born without disabilities, such as being a squib or untreatable blindness.

Be born with all your memories.

Be born with the same sex as previously.

Harry studied the options and to his dread always came to the same conclusion. But he would not yet admit to it, rather he needed more information. "When and where am I reborn?"

"Aah, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"Nothing? Am I supposed to make a decision on this without anything? We talked about cruelty before."

"Life is cruel and I'm at the end of it." she waved away. "Choose, or I choose for you."

"You know as well as me that being born with a disability is not an option and having all my memories too good an opportunity."

"You're choosing one and two, then?" Death smiled at him with an evil grin.

"Yes." Harry answered, somewhat defeated, while his brain already made plans for when he would wake up a girl. Wrapping his head around that would take him a while, he was sure. Maybe he could even deal with it if it meant to destroy Voldemort before his bid for power broke the wizarding world. It all depended on when and where he was born and if he read Death's expression right, he was about to find out.

"Ah, this is going to be great, I just know it. And I already have the perfect nook for you to be placed in. Just you wait." she said and waved her hand again. Her body liquified, fell apart and vaporized into nothingness.

Death let him fall into unconsciousness with one last farewell. "A good life to you, Antara Elladora Black."

 **Chapter 1: The Void she stares into**

Harry woke while kneeling inside a crib, grasping for a stuffed dragon the size of his own body. He had his mouth around one of the woolen horns and gnawed on it.

He recognized a dull, constant pain coming from his mouth. He was teething and it hurt. Gnawing on the horn of the stuffed dragon dulled the pain a bit, so for now Harry continued his treatment of the horn. He felt a need to scream for his… mother? There was a bit of a blur in his mind. He remembered many faces, but one stuck out as especially important. He suppressed the scream, anyway.

Old Harry's mind fought back against the feeling, but it was still there. He had great affection for Walburga Black.

Walburga Black was his mother.

"Bloo-ey 'ell" his untrained mouth mumbled out. Then he chuckled a baby's chuckle when he realized that his first words in his return-life were "Bloody hell".

He kept biting around the horn and collected his thoughts. He marked down that he was definitely not concerned enough about the screeching banshee of Grimmauld Place being his mother. Then again, when he thought it through the woman in his new memory, standing over his crib, feeding him and hugging him had little to do with the woman he knew from a enchanted portrait.

Who knew Walburga Black could be a caring, loving mother? It made Harry wonder what happened to her over the years.

Voldemort came to mind, but maybe that was too easy?

In any case, he had no other option but finding out in his current situation. He was somewhere around a year old, he guessed. He had no knowledge of when babies teethed. Maybe it was sooner? It definitely wasn't after the first birthday, so he knew. Bottomline, however, was that he was incredibly young and therefore absolutely stuck. Stuck a good generation before his previous life.

So who was he now? Obviously his older memories came in conflict with his current identity. The name Death spoke rang in his head. Antara Elladora Black. He had no memory of an Antara on the Black family tree. He would know. He had stared at the spot where Sirius was burned off for hours not too long ago. His eyes had wandered, over Death Eater and Blood Supremacist, yet none of them was named Antara. He concluded that he was a new addition to the household, then. Was he younger than Sirius? Older? Was he the little sister of both brothers, a middle child or maybe the oldest?

He rummaged his few memories, but couldn't remember having seen a young face resembling either of the brothers. The only thing he could see, as more of a blur than anything, was another toddler. A girl. She had sat with him in a crib.

"Huh," he babbled into the horn.

Thinking of that girl also brought him back to his own change of sex. There was an obvious disconnect there, he immediately realized. He was steadfast in his identity as Harry Potter. In his mind he was male and an adult. Yet his body was that of a baby and of the female variety. He counted his lucky stars that he was woken in the body of a baby. They were so asexual to him that he would have time to see the body as his, until he would have to look into the mirror. Had he been woken in an older body, he would have felt like a creep.

It was an odd thought, to feel guilt at imagining his own body just a few years from now. It was _his_ body. Yet all he could imagine was a little girl that was not him. He dearly hoped he would get used to it, maybe even embrace it at some point. He feared to suffer a serious case of personality disorder otherwise.

Harry let his mind wander as he kept gnawing on the dragon. He made a mental list of the people he would eventually meet. Sirius, again. The Black family in all its horrid glory.

His parents.

It was odd to think he could very well be older than his parents. Maybe they weren't even born yet? If Sirius was his little brother, he would welcome James Potter and Lily Evans at Hogwarts as firsties.

Hogwarts. That was another can of worms. He would go to school again, and to boot with a lot of the Inner Circle - people that had tried to kill him and succeeded in doing so to his friends. He knew they would become monsters and his fate would be to watch them grow into that over time.

He would even be family with some of them. Bellatrix Lestrange being right… hold on.

He had a name to the toddler that had been in the crib with him.

"Boody 'ell" he whispered again. Bellatrix was his age? Bellatrix _played_ with him in a crib? His entire baby body shuddered at the thought of playdates with the future right hand of Voldemort.

But he stopped in his internal rant before it even started. He had to be smarter than this, he chastised himself. None of them were Death Eaters yet - Merlin, some weren't even born yet, or just finished potty training. Death liked to play it interesting, indeed.

If his conclusion was correct and he was as old as Bellatrix, it would be another three years until Sirius, his father and his mother were born. Andromeda was probably already on the way, and Narcissa would come a bit later to the party. There was vast potential here, he was sure, but he also lacked the informations to truly plan. For now all he could do was wait until he was old enough to ask questions and pose as an incredibly intelligent child. Who knew? Maybe the adults would spit out their deepest secrets to the puppy eyed girl for which all that should be just random noise.

For Merlins sake, his teeth hurt. He needed something else to chew. The dragon had become a sloppy, drooled over mess and Harry was somewhat disgusted by it at that point. He looked around, trying to find anything to sink his growing teeth in, but could find nothing but expensive looking pillows and blankets.

And a wand?

Harry's young face scrunched together in a confused frown. Who would let their wand lie around a crib? The hell was wrong with some wizards?

He tried to stand up to wobble over to it, but his legs were still a bit too unstable for him to do so. He resorted to crawling. It wasn't far away, anyway. The wand was long, noticeably so. It was of a dark wood harry couldn't identify and felt warm, but alien in his hands. Not all too surprising he supposed. The chances of a strangers wand fitting him were almost zero.

He waved it around and a few sloppy sparks came from it. It would do.

First on his agenda was to transfigure himself something to chew on. He decided to take one of the smaller pillows and with a wave of is wand and the spell in his head he transfigured the garish thing into a piece of soft wood. Hard enough to chew on, but soft enough to not hurt him.

He grabbed the block clumsily and stuck it in his mouth. Heaven. Absolute bliss. The dull pain subsided every time he bit down a bit more on the wood. He had never done it in the first place, but even in his future he swore he would never be annoyed at teething babies crying. They deserved to cry. It felt horrible.

The door opened and he heard a dress rustle against the doorframe and floor. Harry looked up to see the much younger face of Walburga Black looking down on him. She was beautiful, he had to admit and her loving gaze made him feel fuzzy inside, despite himself. Yet her expression soon changed to one of horror.

"ANTARA, NO!" she shouted and jumped forward to the crib. With one swipe of her hand the wand was out of his own. "That is not for you. Merlin and Circe…" she sighed.

Harry felt amused and happily chewed away on his wooden block. The young woman - she could not be older than late-twenties - made an exhausted impression. She had deep rings under her eyes and her eyes were reddened. Despite her evident exhaustion she carefully took Harry out of the crib, after putting the wand into her luscious robes.

"Where did you get the wood, my little star?" she asked softly while pulling the wood out of Harry's mouth with the utmost care. "I hope you didn't use your mummy's wand. But it would serve her right, wouldn't it? So scatterbrained."

That did not please the baby side of Harry and against his own will, he started to wail. At least he could quickly press it back to pleading sobs, lest he annoyed himself with his own screams.

"Oh? Yes, I know. You're hungry aren't you?"

" _No,"_ Harry thought. " _Give me back my block, woman. This hurts like hell._ "

Yet, of course, his thoughts found no way to his mouth. All that came out was a pleading babble of sounds. Frustrated Harry resigned to suffering through the pain in his gums. He just hoped Walburga would get the hint sooner or later.

She sat down with him on a broad, black and silver armchair. Before Harry knew what was happening, his new mother slid the neckline that went down to her navel to the side to expose her chest.

" _Oh… I'm apparently hungry… right. Merlin damnit._ "

"There, there." Walburga whispered and moved his mouth closer to her chest.

Harry decided that he truly had no choice in the matter, even if just for this he would already need a shrink afterwards. Something about Oedipus and Freud was definitely within his current situation. His baby part knew what to do and did so with gusto. His older part just suffered through the humiliation of being breastfed as, technically, an eighteen year old, figuring that he had been through much worse already.

He used the time to study the woman that was his new mother. He had already seen that she was a beauty. However, she was slim, almost gaunt in her features and the tired impression she made was exaggerated, even for a mother with a baby girl to care for. Yet she smiled down at him with a fond smile. There was little similarities with the Walburga from the portrait, and Harry quickly found that memory being overwritten by his new experiences.

Something crashed outside the room and Harry was shook away from Walburga's chest by the woman's immense flinch. There was horror in her face. Her eyes were wide and watching the door. Her ears were listening for the smallest of noise. She was truly terrified for whatever reason, Harry didn't know.

Quickly the woman righted her robes again and laid Harry back in the crib in a hurry. She made to leave the room, but once more the door opened. This time it crashed against the wall, and a man stumbled through the frame.

He was drunk, absolutely hammered. Through glassy eyes the man sent a glare through the room, pausing shortly on Harry. He stopped at the sight of Walburga, who was trying her best not to show it, but trembled in obvious fear of the man.

"Orion," she said in the way of greeting, but it came out as a plead more than anything.

Harry startled. That man was his father?

"Good to…" he burped. Harry could smell the whiskey from his crib. "Good to see you dress as you're told. At least I can look at you now."

"I-I'm glad you…" she answered quietly, but was cut of by the man's shouts.

"Shut up, I didn't ask you anything." He mumbled something unintelligible, and then his gaze wandered to Harry in the crib. He sent Harry a glare and spoke quietly, but in a dangerous whisper. "Know what they say? She's a miracle. A miracle! Pah!"

Orion pulled his wand and pointed it at Harry. A spell formed on the tip of it. It was about to fire when Walburga ripped herself out of her terrified stupor and launched herself against his wandarm. Orion shouted bloody murder and his bludgeoning curse went wide. It sailed over the crib and bumped like a heavy fist against the wall.

Harry sat shocked. Did his new father just try to curse him? What in Merlin's name was wrong with the man?

The answer to the question was soon revealed, to Harry's horror.

Unchecked he sent a backhand at Walburga that hit the woman straight against the jaw. She barely flinched and only stumbled for balance, not out of pain. Her eyes teared up, but her gaze found stability and resolve. "D-d-..."

"What? What you worthless wench?!"

"Don't hurt her." Walburga hissed at him. "Never hurt my baby."

Orion shoved his wife with such violence, she fell against the armchair and toppled it over. "You want to tell me how I raise my daughter?" he shouted at the fallen woman.

Walburga stood up, slow but deliberate. Her robes, as supportless as they were, hung over her body, barely covering her privates. Her jaw had begun to bruise and her unstable stand spoke of something gone awry with her legs. Yet she stood as proud as she could, despite her entire body shivering in fear of the man that now pounced on her.

He took her by her long, black hair and dragged her over to the crib, all the while screaming. "Even the Daily Prophet writes that bloody Antara - what a stupid name, cunt - was a 'miracle'." he pulled her hair so hard, Walburga screamed in pain. She landed over the crib, brusing her ribs on the wood of it's side.

"Know what've been a miracle?" Orion soved her again, just so his hands could grab her robes and pull on them to fully expose her. "A miracle would've been a damned son, you useless whore."

He forced her around and bent her over the crib, while he grabbed her arms behind her back so tight, it forced them into almost unnatural angles.

"Maybe we just need to try again… and again… and again." Orion slurred as he pulled open his own robes.

Harry was frozen, unbelieving of what he was witnessing. It didn't process in his mind. How could anyone be so brutal, so incredibly cruel to his family? His eyes were incapable of looking away, but he could at least direct them to his mother's face, filled with pain as her own husband brutalised her.

"Maybe this time you don't disappoint!" Orion shouted at her while his free hand delivered punches to her back, against her ribs and slaps on her behind that left ugly bruises. "You just had to prove it to him, had to have this useless child. Cygnus already laughs at me. LAUGHS AT ME!"

Orion ranted and Harry could only watch helplessly as the man beat his wife into a bruised mess while raping her. He saw blood run down her thighs. He heard the cracking of breaking ribs. But during all this Walburga would not even so much as sob. She looked down onto the pillows, not even seeing anything.

"Sarah would've given me a boy. You had to spawn another witch. You just had to, didn't you?! You're useless. You're nothing and you deserve all this. Do you understand that?"

When Walburga didn't answer he gave her a punch against the back of her head that would knock out adult men. "ANSWER ME!"

"Y- y- ye...s." she pressed out.

"YES WHAT?" Another punch against her head, so hard it made her scalp open. Blood came freely from the wound and ran down her blue and yellow beaten jaw.

"Yes...L-Lord B-lack" she forced herself to say.

Orion couldn't possibly see it, but Harry recognized it immediately. Walburga's face was distorted in limitless, yet barely contained rage. It was hate. It was pure. Yet it was not unleashed, not called upon. The woman glared stoic at the pillows beneath her, burning, mad rage glistering in her eyes.

Harry was scared into a paralysis, while his baby self whimpered. His quiet sounds made Walburga focus on him. He flinched when he saw the hate. But it was not directed at him. When she saw him, shivering and crying for his mother, Walburga forced herself, despite everything, to mouth "I love you" at her daughter. Through tears and blood she gave Harry - her little Antara - a small, sad smile.

With a pathetic last thrust Orion was done. "Maybe this will make a boy. One can only hope. You will not clean yourself up. Understood?"

Not taking her eyes off Harry, Walburga gave a defeated "Yes,"

"Don't disturb me for the rest of the day. I have enough of you for now." he spat. With unstable steps he stomped out of the room, not even caring, or not able to care about his attire.

As Walburga slumped onto the ground all tension left Harry as well, and he couldn't help but start to wail. Inside there was a turmoil in him he had not known before. He had never experienced a feeling like this.

This was what the old Bellatrix had meant in the Ministry. This was it. Hate. This feeling enabled people to cast the Cruciatus.

He had thought he hated Voldemort, or Bellatrix Lestrange, or Umbridge. No. That was just disdain, a severe dislike and disgust. This wasn't hate. But Harry knew, in the very deepest corners of his heart that he hated his father beyond all else.

Walburga was grabbing for her wand that lay on the floor. She crawled to it; carried her broken body to the long, dark wooden wand. With shivering hands she picked it up, waved it in a circle and suddenly the room fell into an eerie silence.

Only then she allowed herself to scream. Harry's blood froze as he heard his mother cry out her pain so loud her voice cracked. Inbetween her screams she cursed her husband, swore vengeance on him.

And then it came, the Walburga he had known from the portrait. She began to cackle, hoarse and unmelodic. She laughed, through the blood in her mouth, her eyes shot around the room, her tongue hung out of her mouth. She rolled over to look at the ceiling and cackled until she had to spit out the blood that threatened to suffocate her.

"M-" Harry tried to speak through his own tears but the baby he was in was in hysterics. He focused and centered himself. His mother needed his help. How? Harry was unable to walk, unable to do any magic without a wand. And even if he had one, would he be capable of complex healing spells? He dared not even try.

"Mo… Momme?" he finally was able to say.

It was as if some switch was flicked. Walburga had cackled through the blood coming from her lungs and suddenly, she stopped. The moment she heard her little Antara speak, she was as if brought back from another world.

"M-my litt-le star…" she gasped, becoming painfully aware of her many broken ribs. On her elbows she crawled closer to the crib. Close enough for her hands to caress Harry's little feet. "It's over… now. Hush, Antara. Hush…"

Her head lolled to the side. She had trouble breathing, as bubbly sounds came from her mouth whenever she took a breath. Her eyes grew distant and unseeing. Only her hands, still weakly caressing his feet let him believe that she was not yet lost. Harry didn't know what to do. He needed help. He needed someone who could do the magic needed for his mother to keep breathing.

He could've hit himself for not thinking about it sooner. "Kweacha!"

With a pop Kreacher the houseelve appeared next to Harry's crib. His eyes grew wide as he saw Walburga on the floor. His hands trembled. His entire body shook. Harry knew the signs of a houselve trying, but failing to go against orders.

"Little…" he swallowed. His eyes never so much as twitched away from his Mistress. "Little Mistress has called? How can… can Kreacher be of service?"

"Momme!" harry wailed. He pointed at Walburga. He waved in hysterics, trying to order the elve to heal her by gesture alone.

"K-Kreacher… cannot." he said, but by every other way of communicating intent and meaning, by mimics and gestures, Harry knew Kreacher tried with all he had to ignore them.

Harry needed to get him to circumvent them. He needed the elve to have some possibility of working around his Master's orders.

Harry slammed his elbow with all he had against the wooden bars of the crib. he felt his little bones break, and just with all his eighteen year old self he could keep the baby he was in from screeching like a banshee at the pain.

"Owie!" he said to Kreacher through tears.

The elve's eyes went wide. His face found a small smile and without a word, he popped away, just to come back with so many potions against pain, wounds, bloodloss and broken bones, half of St. Mungo could've been healed with it.

"Kreacher brought potions for little sneaky Mistress." the elve almost laughed in glee. "Kreacher will place them next to Mistress' mouth. But the bed is unstable. Little Mistress should be careful."

 _Merlin damnit, I never thought I'd love this elve._ Harry thought and let his unbroken arm swipe around to kick over the potion, right into the open mouth of Walburga.

"So clumsy, little Miss." Kreacher giggled and took the now empty potion vial away. "Little Mistress couldn't possibly make this mistake with this bone mending potion."

Sure enough, Harry let his arm swipe again and the potion fell into his mother's open mouth.

They did it again and again. Blood-Replenishing potions followed Skele Gro, followed Pain-Reducer, followed Wound-Knitting-Potions. Every time Kreacher's eyes grew brighter and when they at last finished, he had the same admiration in his eyes when he looked at his "little, sneaky, clever, cunning Mistress" as he had for the portrait of Walburga back in Harry's old life.

Walburga coughed up the last bit of blood that cluttered her airways when the Blood-Replenisher had restored enough blood in her system to become coherent again. She looked around in a dazed confusion, first at Kreacher busying himself with her daughter. She paled as she saw her Antara's elbow sticking out of her arm. "Antara!"

"Momme!" Harry cheered. "Owie." he added while pointing at his elbow, but the grin he gave his mother made the woman stop in her tracks.

"Kreacher!" she finally shouted. "Why is Antara's arm…?" her eyes grew wide again in that terrifying, burning rage. "Did Orion…?"

But Kreacher knew enough about his Mistress to make sure she wouldn't do something she would regret in her weakened state. "Little Miss was so terrified, she broke her own arm on the bars. Every time Kreacher tried to give a potion, little, sneaky Mistress pushed it over into Mistress' mouth. Kreacher will take better care, next time."

Harry watched his mother as it slowly sunk in what Kreacher had just told her. She eyed the emptied vials around her, fully aware that these doses were appropriate for adults, but not for small children. She was also aware that Kreacher had enough sense to not bring adult potions to a child's aid, especially not when he also thought about the appropriate doses he was currently applying.

"A-Antara? Did… did you?" Walburga gestured around her, gobsmacked. "Did you heal mommy?"

Harry nodded. He noticed that Kreacher had finished healing his arm, even though the bone was still hurting with that same sort of dull pain his teeth produced. Given the circumstances, his teething and his recently healed bone couldn't keep him from opening his arms wide, asking his mother to carry him.

Walburga didn't hesitate, even though she was still soiled by her own blood, her bones still hurt from being healed and she was still starkers. She couldn't keep her eyes from her daughter. "You healed me?" she asked again in disbelief.

"Momme owie." Harry stated, while cursing himself for not being able to produce much more sounds than that. His untrained facial muscles be cursed. "Kweacha hal-p."

"Yes... yes, Mommie did hurt." Walburga pressed her eyes together and for a short moment her face distorted into a fierce snarl. "You should've never seen this. You shouldn't have to. That this…" she gave her daughter a sad smile. "That this is the moment you start to speak? It is bittersweet, but appreciated. Had you not… Kreacher wouldn't be able to go against Orion. My little sneaky Antara."

Walburga gave him a big smooch on his forehead. He stood in awe at the woman. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to muster the mental fortitude to be so loving, so caring after the brutality of Orion.

He was sat down in the armchair after Kreacher was doen righting the room back to immaculate state. Had Harry not seen what had happened here, he wouldn't have been able to guess.

Walburga dressed herself again in the robe that was barely worth the name. The passionate, erotic part of it was gone, displaced by the taint of Orion's orders to wear it for his viewing pleasure and for the easy access it provided him. It was no more a lavish, luxurious robe, but symbol of his sadistic violence. Yet his mother wore it with grace and pride, even with her dried blood still on her chest and face.

She sat down in the armchair and lifted Harry up to her lap. They looked at each other, none of them saying a word, nor making a sound. Harry waited for his mother to close her eyes. Her lids fell down heavily, her exhaustion apparent, worsened by the assault she had suffered.

Harry kept awake. His mind raced. So many things were beginning to make sense and never would he doubt Sirius' stories again. He would never again believe them exaggerations, made to paint his family in the worst light possible. Orion was a sadist, worse than Umbridge, on par with Voldemort. It was no wonder that Walburga would become the insane banshee Sirius had described her as, if this was the treatment she had to endure from such a young age. Hate breeds hate, violence breeds more violence. The Black household had been a bloody circle of brutality, devoid of any love or compassion.

Harry was lying down on his mother's. Nowhere was more comfortable, nowhere more safe than in her arms. There he tried to sleep, and there he plotted.

Once he would be able to make him, Orion would suffer tenfold, so he vowed to his mother, his future brothers and himself.

 **Chapter 2: Black Years**

The violence didn't end. The following years of his new life were riddled with the signs of Orion's ever increasing brutality.

It was his first birthday, on the first of May, 1957 that he also found the reason why Walburga suffered at the hands of her husband, without ever seeking help.

He had seen his grandfathers before, yet they never so much as spoke with him. Arcturus and Pollux Black were hard men, forged in the flames of the Grindelwald Wars. Their sole goal? The continuation and prosperity of the Black family, against all odds and even against each other. Harry had found out, by just sitting in the same room as them, being his baby self, that the marriage between Orion and Walburga was practically the glue holding two warring sides of a Clan together.

On his first birthday, Harry tried not to be smothered by his grandmothers Melania and Irma. Other than their husbands, they were bubbly ladies in their forties who have been spared the horrors of war by being birds in golden cages while the world around them burnt. They were both rather beautiful, even if the years already drew some wrinkles in their faces. Still, compared to the scarred, deeply wrinkled and hard faces of their husbands they seemed positively youthful.

Harry sat between them trying to read a book. Of course, everybody assumed he just pretended to do so. Which one year old child could read? They thought it was cute that little Antara tried to be so grown up. Walburga's insistence that she could, in fact, read was waved away as her having illusions of grandeur, projected onto her daughter. It was testament to Walburga's precarious, belittled standing within her own family.

The two women gossiped over his head as his ears found much more interesting conversation across the room. It was Pollux, slightly tipsy on his third glass of firewhiskey who lamented. "This would have never happened with him."

"Don't…" Arcturus warned with a guttural growl.

"You know I am right, Arcturus." Pollux hissed at his cousin. "This law will ruin Britain. Dumbledore plays you like a fiddle. Even Callidora couldn't keep Longbottom from joining that traitorous bastard."

"You sound like a peasant, Pollux. Spare me your whining. You lost and we all must suffer for it." Arcturus' voice was something that fascinated Harry. It was deep, quiet, but rumbled through a room like an earthquake, demanding to be heard, even if its just whispering.

"Lord Grindelwald…"

"Was a fool. He had no vision beyond his ridiculous doctrine." Arcturus waved anything off that Pollux could have answered. "Yet we have to deal with the fact that one of his… assumed… generals is part of this family, _Fieldmarshal Pollux Black_. The fact that we are still members of the Wizengamot is all due to me and my efforts. Do not presume to lecture me."

"And yet Dumbledore does what he wants with his _Phoenix_. Thirty-Five Seats, Arcturus. He might as well rule as Minister. And all he uses it for is to tell us that thousand years of legacy are suddenly illegal. He is the one presuming to tell you what to do."

Arcturus scoffed. "He has done so for the last six years. The next time the Elders are called to Commitment they will not choose to follow the Professor again, I assure you."

With an almost violent swig Pollux cleared his firewhiskey. He snorted the flames out of his nostrils - a habit Harry seen on him since the first time they had met - and held the glass out for Kreacher to refill. "Big words for someone who has lost over forty Elders in one Commitment. Your confidence is but a mask, Arcturus. You should know when your time has come."

"And what is it you think I should do? Give _you_ power over the _Alliance_?" Arcturus gave a humorless laugh. "Your sense of humor is improving, I see."

"You will give the power to Cygnus… in time."

"Your son? Why should I if I have a perfectly fine heir to take over?"

Pollux smiled, leaned back and made himself comfortable as if he had won a major battle. "Not him. We had agreed on that by Vow. But his next child will be a son. You know the protocol. The first heir to be born..."

"Enlighten me how you would be privy of such information if not even Druella herself is aware of a pregnancy? What have you done, asked a Seer?"

Arcturus began to laugh in earnest when Pollux's face said all that needed to be said. He decided, with a snip of his fingers, to indulge in his first glass of firewhiskey, with the mocking grin on his face never vanishing. "You become desperate, Pollux."

"It's not like Walburga has spawned an heir. Her first birth was barely successful. Who knows, she might be barren at this point."

"Neither has Druella, so the discussion is for naught." Arcturus then focused his eyes onto Harry, or for him, his granddaughter Antara. "I'm surprised you would be so cold when speaking about your daughter?"

"She may as well be yours." Pollux shrugged. "With Alphard and Cygnus my line is steadfast - secured. And Cygnus is only nineteen. A good age for sons. I have no need for a daughter that believes her one year old girl understands Charms theory."

Both of them now looked at Harry. Their eyes analysed him, like an object to be weighed and measured. Harry kept his own gaze on them, never wavering. Pollux was not in any way interesting to look at. He had an all around defeated pose on him. Arcturus, however, stared at Harry with his dark grey eyes and it felt worth to gaze back.

"Yet, I have never seen a child so… focused." Arcturus grinned at Pollux. "I might even dare hope this marriage was not a mistake. Who knows? If she stares like this with one, maybe she casts like this with seven, chants like this with eleven and makes even grandfather Phineas tremble in his grave with seventeen?"

"Indulge in your dreams, Arcturus. You already sound like my daughter." Pollux stood up. He righted his robes and was about to leave. "Make a donation to the Mind Ward in Mungo's before you let go of the Patriarchy. In your own interest."

Harry was torn away from the discussion by excited women streaming in the room. In front of everybody, still unsure on her feet, was Bellatrix. The girl jumped in his arms and gave him a hug as tight as her little arms allowed.

Around him were the female Blacks, all cooing at the cute little cousins being so caring to each other. The day blurred into a back and forth, from one grandaunt, to grandmother, to uncle, to aunt, and so on and on and forth. He was flooded in presents, mostly cute pink dresses he all denied in favor of a black one his mother gave him. She knew that he hated pink, hated playing with any of the toys they gifted him with and despised nothing more than being handled like a puppet.

She gave him a black dress, simple and without much decor. If he had to wear dresses, these were the ones he chose. She gifted him a book, and he chose it over all the colorful toys.

She listened. She understood. And so again Harry vowed to do anything to make this woman happy the moment he could do so. Through all the tumult Harry vowed this, because bit by bit, he began to understand the structures of the Black family and how to use them to make his mother free.

 **Chapter 3: First Blood**

Harry woke to the screams of his mother. Again.

He was so done with it. He was so tired of seeing her exhausted, beaten and brutalised. It always shattered his heart when she came to him for sanctuary, never crying or faulting, but always just that one step closer to the edge. She was always scurrying slightly towards that banshee in the portrait in the hall of Grimmauld Place. She was not supposed to seek refuge with her seven year old daughter. Walburga shouldn't have to feel safe only when her little Antara held her tight.

Her screams tore through the night. The door to his room opened and two pair of small feet entered. Harry saw the silhouettes of his brothers in the doorframe. Sirius had little Regulus by the hand. His future Gryffindor brother tried to be strong for Regulus, who sniffled and let silent tears fall down his cheek. Yet, Sirius too had red streaks down his face.

As always in these nights they climbed onto their sisters bed and held onto her. Sirius to his right, Regulus to his left. Harry let his hands stroke their backs with soft circles.

"I hate him." Sirius whispered as if he spoke a forbidden truth.

"I know…" Harry answered him.

Sirius held onto him tighter, his fingers digging into his sleeping gowns. "Why…?"

"Sirius… Regulus." Harry began. he held his brothers tighter to him. "Father is… father is an evil man. But we must…"

"He should just die." Sirius interrupted. "He hates mum and you. I want him to die."

"Sirius, we need to…" Harry tried to reason with him again. As so often, Sirius was the one who wanted their father gone, not understanding the fallout Orion's death would cause. He didn't think, as the personality of the Sirius of Harry's old life had suggested. He didn't…

Harry couldn't finish his thought. Regulus spoke up, his mousy voice loud next to Harry's ears. "Siri is right. I don't wan' papa anymore."

Harry's mind grinded to a halt. It was one thing to have the hot blooded Sirius say he wished death upon his despised father, but it was another thing entirely to have their father's darling, Regulus, speak out in favor of his papa's death.

"He would be dead, then, Regulus. He will never come back. Father would be gone and the Alliance would be in jeopardy. Pollux would see his chance and…"

"Would he hurt mommy again?" Regulus asked.

"N-no… no he wouldn't." Harry answered, his voice shaking.

Regulus closed in even more to his ear. His voice whispered, so quiet that even Sirius on the other side barely heard his voice. "Can you make him go away, Anti?"

Had it been only his sweet little brother asking, Harry would have eventually found an excuse, or a way to appease him. They trusted him with all their heart and Harry, as loathe he was to admit it, used this trust to keep them from rebelling against their father. After all, the future of the Alliance hinged on their father's words. Pure and honest Orion Black, whose word was contract, whose support was everlasting once gained. To the Alliance he was everything cold-blooded, ruthless and stubborn Arcturus failed to be.

Harry would have found all these excuses and made his brothers understand, had there not been their mother coming in through the door at that moment.

The quiet cackle let the hair on his neck stand up and goosebumps cover his arms. Walburga shivered and the bit of moonlight coming through the curtains shimmered on the wet streaks of blood coming from her head and mouth.

"Little Stars?" she whispered. "Where are you my little stars?"

Harry shot up and stood next to his mother in a heartbeat. He hugged her; felt her body tremble in the mixture of rage and pain. At his touch she kneeled on the floor and leaned into his hands stroking her head.

But the cackle didn't stop. It didn't stop. Harry tried kissing her forehead, wiped away the blood with some handkerchief from his nightstand, caressed her bruised arms and legs, but the cackle didn't stop.

"Mother?"

"My little stars, shining so bright. But I don't see you." she mumbled. "Don't see you, don't see you. My little stars."

Harry's heart beat so fast he felt his ribs shiver with every pump. It was fast and didn't go slower. He looked his mother in her eyes, but all that came back was an unseeing thousand mile stare and a deranged smile, disconnected from the world.

Had he finally done it? Had his father finally broken his mother? The mere thought brought black hate deep from within his guts. His stomach turned acidic, and he wanted to wretch. His mind burnt bright hot like fiendfyre, devouring his reason and excuses.

He had done it. He broke his beloved mother.

He would suffer.

Harry took his blankets and wrapped them around his mother. He kept the front open and nodded to his two brothers. "Sirius. Regulus. I want you to sit next to mother. I want you to hold her and not let go until I'm back. Hold her! Do you understand?"

His brothers nodded in silence and made their way towards their mother quickly, hearing the command in their sister's voice. But their eyes were wide as saucers at the new nuance in it. They had never heard the rage burning within her, making her voice deeper, raspy and hoarse. They wrapped their mother in their arms while Harry closed the blankets around them.

"Stay. Hold her." Harry commanded one last time. "Whatever you hear, stay. I'll be back."

"What are you gonna…" Sirius began to ask until Harry held a finger to his mouth.

He took a breath. It shook when he took it in, and it shook when he let it out. "I'll free us." he said and Sirius understood. His brother's face became dead serious, and his arms held onto his mother with brave determination.

His hands moved automatic, his mind in a tunnel, he didn't even see the handle of the cupboard, nor did he really feel his great-grandaunt's wand as he wrapped his fingers around it. His legs moved as if animated by a badly cast spell. They fell heavy on the floor. His shoulder clumsily bumped against the doorframe when he left his bedroom for the lounge.

Two stories worth of stairs felt like he climbed a mountain. His hand grasped his wand again and again. His mind played around with spells and combinations; with how he would get his father unaware.

While playing through tactics, he felt a disconnect to something essential. He felt something go away as he took step for step towards committing cold blooded murder. He knew the enormous weight he was about to load onto himself. He knew about the damage he would do to his soul and maybe even his mind and body, but it didn't negate the hate in him, the burning, raging desire to see his father at his feet, begging him for mercy that would never come.

His feet landed on the third floor of Grimmauld Place, where to the right there was the dining hall, and to the left the lounge, in which rich men smoked expensive tobacco and drank luxurious liquors. In there he heard the monster under the roof pour himself a glass of whiskey with unsteady hands. Glass chinked against glass, and a decanter was set down onto wooden surfaces too hard.

Harry opened the door. It creaked, as did every door in Grimmauld Place at this late hour. As intended it alerted the one inside.

His father had blood smeared over his grey robes. Walburga's blood. His mother's blood.

"Girl!" Orion shouted at him. "Get out!"

Harry didn't move. He just found more stable foothold inside the doorframe. His weight on the balls of his feet he was ready to jump, sidestep or duck at any moment.

"ARE YOU NOT LISTENING?! GET OUT!" he screamed at her.

Harry shook. His entire body trembled with the pent up anger of seven years. His eyes were large, unblinking and never wavering from Orion's.

"I remember… seven years ago. In my nursery." Harry began. His voice whispered, yet it carried through the room like his grandfather's voice did. "I never forgot."

"What are you…? Get! OUT!"

Orion raised his wand and was about to shoot a curse at Harry when in the blink of an eye, Harry's wand stabbed in Orion's direction and he shouted " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Orion's wand flew towards Harry who caught it with a seeker's reflex. His father stood paralysed in the room, not believing what he was seeing.

"Girl." His voice was dangerously low, threatening in it's controlled, quiet sound. "You will give me my wand. Right. Now."

"I swore something back then. I vowed it." Harry answered instead of even thinking of handing the wand over. His voice became stronger doing so. "I vowed to free my mother from you, when I could."

"Antara, I swear to Morgana if you don't give me my wand - RIGHT NOW - your punishment will not be done with a simple Crucio."

"I broke this vow." Harry continued unperturbed. "I could've gotten rid of you years ago, but I wanted brothers. I was selfish. But today you did it, _father_."

Orion still stood paralysed at the spot where he lost his wand. One hand still held the glass of firewhiskey he had poured, but it was forgotten in favor of the seven year old pointing a wand at him and knowing how to use it. "Did what?" he asked.

Harry's rage cooked over. "YOU BROKE HER!"

It was this rage, this black, roaring rage everywhere in his body that shattered something in him. Harry had known, from the day he had regained consciousness, what true hate was. It was all centered in the figure of his father, standing there in his pathetic self-importance and daring to ask "what" after he had raped his wife again.

Harry had always known that there was something dark in him. It had been there in his old life, but he had only embraced it over the last seven years. He found himself on a crossroads when he raised the wand to Orion's head. What side would win? Who would he be? There were so many options, yet Harry felt himself go away, making space for something different to overtake this identity he carefully constructed, forming it into something new and decidedly not _him_.

"CRUCIO!" Antara roared.

Orion broke down onto the floor. The whiskey glass shattered, spilling the firewhiskey over the floor. Antara held her wand tight and felt how limitless power over the writhing body flowed through her veins, enraptured her mind and encircled her being. She felt something come loose in her - a shift so subtle and yet so significant that for just a short moment she lost concentration and the spell ended.

"WHAT BY THE…" Orion began to shout. He tried to stand up and jump behind a chair, but Antara's concentration came back just in time. _Sectumsempra_ she thought and the sickle like spell slashed out against her father's legs, leaving only stumps behind.

Orion finally began to scream and it was like music in her ears. Her heart raced in exhilaration at such sweet justice. "Crucio." she hissed. It was stronger this time. It was so clear in it's intent to make this monster of man feel what she had felt, suffer what he had made others suffer through.

His body spasmed in cramps, his eye bulged with the sheer agony he experienced at the hand of his daughter.

She let it go. His body slumped onto the carpet. His breath was frantic, his voice hoarse from screaming. "H-h-how…?"

"You should listen more to grandfather when he talks." Antara's voice almost bit out pieces from him. It was as venomous as a rattlesnake, with the same promise of death coming from it. "His little granddaughter, so talented. Nobody knows, father. Nobody bothered to look at widdle, ickle Anti when she went through the library. So cute, wasn't I, when I _pretended_ to read like an adult? Nobody will believe it was me when they'll find your corpse."

"No… no, p-please." He stuttered. "Please. Antara!"

"No. You had your chance to repent." She raised her wand like a dirigent his staff. "Now... suffer. Crucio!"

The purity of the spell surprised even her. The deep rooted hate for him finally unleashed its full potential, making every muscle of him cramp, his heart beat in arrhythmic manners, his mind overload with the signals of endless pain coming from everywhere in his body. Orion shattered in mind and body in front of her. She enjoyed every second of it.

She would be free. Her brothers would be free.

Mother would be free.

She released the spell again. This time he didn't even try to right himself. From Orion's mouth there came only gurgling sounds. His fight was gone.

In came a pop and Kreacher stood next to his master, no doubt summoned by the panic he felt from Orion. The elve gave an unreadable look to Antara. Then he looked down at his Master, who begged the elve by looks alone to take him anywhere else. Orion tried to speak and order, but only spit out blood.

Antara saw it. Kreacher knew very well what his master wanted. The elve wasn't slow at all. Yet there he stood and spoke in a slightly mocking manner. "Kreacher is sorry, Master. He cannot understand the order. Kreacher will punish himself for not hearing better."

With one last look to Antara and a small, cruel smile, the elve apparated away, leaving his master at the mercy of his daughter.

With a simple _Wingardium Leviosa_ she flipped her father around so that he would be able to look at her. She stood above him, just out of his arm's reach. Her azure blue eyes met his steel grey ones.

"You are nothing like your father." She hissed at him. "The Black family will endure without you."

Orion knew, then, that this was his end. He saw in the eyes of his daughter that he would die at her hands. Her eyes were devoid of anything human in this one moment. Her face was bereft of even the last hint of mercy or compassion. It was just hate staring back at him, pure and unwavering. He was fulfilled with an odd sense of pride when his demise was brought down upon him.

"Avada Kedavra."

Antara was surprised at how easy it came to her. He father lied there in front of her, but she felt nothing. Nothing at all. Once the hate subsided, seeing as it's target was no more, her body began to shake violently. She lost control over her fingers. Her wand fell onto the floor. She didn't hear it land. Everything around her blacked out, with the exception of her father's corpse before her.

In a daze she stumbled backwards, out of the room. She fell over the threshold to the hall. Her head slammed against the floor, but there was no impact felt. She felt nothing. Not the cold wooden floor, nor the draft of cold air blowing over her.

She heard a pop. Kreacher stood in front of her. Her eyes couldn't focus on him. The blur that was the elve came closer to her. He tried to hush her, but anything he said was drowned out by the beating of her heart like wardrums in her head.

She felt a vial be brought to her lips and a liquid poured into her. All of a sudden her breathing slowed, her heart rate lowered and her eyes focused.

With her hands holding onto the banisters of the downward stairs she stood up. Her knees were weak, still feeling like jelly. Standing upright, Antara oriented herself. Her eyes fell onto the door to the lounge. There, peeking through the doorframe, were the lifeless eyes of her father.

She emptied her stomach violently. Only when she began dry heaving did she dare look back at what she had done and the magnitude of what she had done came crashing down on her. Tears ran down her face. She had killed. She was a murderer.

Worst of all, she had enjoyed it. The feeling of power over her father had been a rush like nothing she had ever felt before, in her new and her old life. She was torn between the feeling of having gained something and having lost something, both things equally significant.

Harry seemed like a distant memory now. That was it. Harry would have never spoken the Cruciatus curse with such relish and he would have never, ever used the Killing Curse. It was testament to the difference she had made in the last seven years, how life here had changed her. She was Antara Elladora Black, daughter of Walburga Black, sister to both Sirius and Regulus Black. Her old life was but a ressource now from which to garner information. She was transformed and had brought it to completion by the sacrifice of her innocence.

"Kreacher will clean, Mistress." the elve said. Antara looked down to him, not fully comprehending his words. "Kreacher will dispose of the mess…. all of it."

"What…"

"Mistress should not worry. She is exhausted and needs sleep, like her mother and the young Masters."

"W-w-" Antara coughed again, wretched with her stomach cramping, but there was nothing but the taste and burning of acid coming out. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Where do you… what will you do with… him?"

"Kreacher knows. Mistress should not worry, but Mistress should not know either. The less she knows, the better."

"I… see." Antara agreed with a nod and watched Kreacher as he first vanished the puke on the floor and then made towards the lounge where he grabbed Orion's body and disapparated with it.

She knew she could trust the elve. Kreacher was their families elve and absolutely devoted to her and her mother. Whatever he would do, it would not get them into trouble. At least not in more trouble than they were already in.

Like drops from a cave's ceiling it slowly sunk in what she had done. Reason for reason it came back as to why she had endured her father. Her knuckles went white at the thoughts. Her grandfather would have to take over the entire political game again. Unwritten agreements, promises and personal favors made to Orion were now gone.

They were royally fucked.

Like a lifeline she held onto the banister while her feet did their best to not crumble under the weight of her dread. One by one she descended the stairs to her bedroom. She fell from the banisters onto the wall and ground against it towards the still open door.

Antara heard sniffles coming from within, sometimes accompanied by sobs.

She had a tight grip on the doorframe as she carried herself in. There she stood and looked into four innocent eyes full of fear, and one pair of eyes shining through the night. Her mother looked at her as if she was the full moon itself, glowing with soft and soothing light. She raised her arms, inviting Antara to fall into her hug.

She fell forward, her legs failing as she crashed into her mother. The moment she felt her mother's arms around her Antara began to cry; harder than she had ever cried before. She screamed her confusion, her dread, her guilt and relief into her mother's shoulders. Sobs wrecked her body. She sucked in air with frantic, hysterics breaths. All that kept her from falling apart completely were the hands of her mother, softly stroking her back while she cooed sweet nothings in her ear. She felt her brothers' embrace, so tight she couldn't move, but neither could she fall.

"My little star…" Walburga whispered to her.

"I killed him." Antara whispered back. "I stood over him and… and…"

"I know, little star. I know." Walburga buried her own face in the crook of Antara's neck. "I'm sorry I wasn't stronger for you. I'm so sorry, Antara. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to do this. I'm sorry."

Their foreheads came together and Antara saw her mother's eyes just two noses away from hers. They were just as red from crying as her own and full of concern. Yet they gave her the strength to take a deep, shaking breath. She calmed herself. One deep breath more and she felt the knot in her stomach loosen somewhat. Enough for her to speak again.

"You're free now." she whispered to her mother. "It's over. He's gone. No more. No more."

Walburga lifted her up. Antara felt exhaustion take hold over her body as she was laid down onto her bed. The bodies of her mother and her brothers pressed against her, cradling her to sleep.

The consequences of her action played no role as her family held each other tight to shoo away the nightmares. Antara dreaded the fallout, the backlash of this powerplayer leaving the political stage of magical Britain. She felt guilt for destroying much of what her grandfather had built.

But she fell asleep knowing that the days of her mother screaming in pain, of her being raped and beaten, humiliated and belittled, were over. They would have peace now. Finally.

 **Chapter 4: Shuffling The Deck Anew**

It took three weeks until Orion's body was found.

Kreacher had done his best to prevent the fallout. His Master has been found in a ritualistic stone circle in Scotland, owned by the Fudges. Nothing could be proven, of course, yet the Daily Prophet kept suggesting the murderous dealmakings of the Free Mage Conglomerate and it's leader Cornelius Fudge. Arcturus could work with that, despite the antipathy towards him in the Wizengamot and in his own Alliance. It blunted the edge of the loss.

On the other side, it was still a win for the Phoenix and for the Naturalists. It looked like it would become another Commitment in their favor. Antara bristled at their comments given to the Prophet. They were bemoaning the death of Orion Black in public, but in between the lines you could read their celebratory mood. She couldn't pretend to be surprised by it. She knew what it would cost the Black family and Alliance. It was just a pity that to uphold the families peace, none of the reasons may ever come to light. She knew it, her mother knew it and even her brothers knew so instinctively. Orion Black would be buried and remembered as a rolemodel to british wizarding culture.

One week after they had found the corpse, the Black family held the burial rites. Arcturus had ordered a burial fire for the ages to honor his son. It burned for seven days and seven nights, as high as a five story building, burning tons of wood during the inferno. During this time it seemed like the entirety of Britain came to the fire at one point to pay their respects, or just to watch the magical fire dance.

The family attended a vigil on the first, the third, the fifth and the seventh day, exactly at midnight. Antara watched her mother during these vigils. On the first night she looked her usual, exhausted self. Her head sometimes jerked at the softest sound.

On the third night of the fire she let her shoulders slump. Most of the night she had her arms tight around either herself or Antara. She would have hugged Sirius and Regulus as well, but both were deemed too young to attend a night vigil.

On the fifth night Walburga began to speak with the other attendees and on the seventh night she threw a rose into the fire, saying goodbye to her "beloved husband" for the press and the entire family to see. Her smile was as if plastered to her face and only when her eyes met Antara, they got depth and radiated gratitude. She played the game well, on this night, fully knowing that she would never have to suffer that man's existence again. She had endured. She was still alive. She had _won_.

Despite her mother's rapidly improving health, both mental and physical, and the lighter mood in the first two floors of Grimmauld Place, Antara could not set foot onto the third floor any longer.

They left Grimmauld Place soon after.

Walburga cited that there were too many memories reminding her of Orion in the halls of the London estate. Nobody needed to know those memories nature. Everybody assumed it was grief, and Walburga let them in the belief. Arcturus agreed that the images of his son were too much in the old ancestral home of the Black family.

They emptied out Number 12, from the library to the artefacts, to even the last piece of cutlery, and moved to a property within a neighbourhood with prominent members of magical Britain in it. Arcturus had not spared any expense in order to accommodate his remaining heirs and to position himself in a prime spot to reset and play anew in the big arena of show and shine. The property alone cost more than many a wizard would accumulate in his vault throughout his life. The manor built on it was worthy being called the new hub of the Black family.

Black Port Manor was a grand construct of magical architecture. It stood proudly, facing south, on the hill above the Singing Bay, which was also the name of the more extravagant part of Hogsmeade, far away from the streets and paths the populus uses. In usual Black manner, it outshone every other house, hall or manor in the area. Four stories high, as long as a Quidditch field, shaped in U form, with a tower on each outwards facing corner, it was just by mass alone the biggest and most luxurious house around. One would not be proven wrong if they called it a palace. But the timber-framed walls made of magical wood and white-glistering stone, the italian white marble surrounding the windows and the shingles made of enchanted black porcelain truly made the manors around them look like shacks in which the Black family kept their gardening tools and houselves.

Given their neighbourhood that was quite an achievement. After running over a good half mile of garden on each side, the look over the hedges was impressive as well. To their west, also facing the Singing Bay, stood Bones Manor, solidifying Antara's suspicions as to what her grandfather was planning to do to keep the Black family relevant. To their north, away from the bay, was the Ollivander Grove, with their great farm-house in the middle, surrounded by wand-wood trees of a thousand varieties. To their east stood, to Antaras shock, the home of her former grandparents. The Griffin's Manor in all it's redwood and chalk-stone glory, or as it was also called: Potter Hall.

It had been odd, that the part of her she had believed dead after the night her father lost his life; that Harry would suddenly surge up so violently again at seeing Euphemia and Dorea Potter sitting on two white, wooden chairs, enjoying tea together at the Black Lake.

She had known they lived in Hogsmeade, had their symbolic, ancestral cottage in Godric's Hollow and an ingredients farm in Ottery . Yet it still shook her to see them just sitting there. It also made her curious.

She couldn't help herself. She followed the newly grown boxwood tree hedge down to the lakeside where it kept a little gateway to the other families piers. The Blacks did not yet have boats roped to theirs, but the Potters had a longboat with plenty of fishing equipment in it strapped tight to the wooden jetty.

She stopped in the little notch between the hedges and just watched the two ladies of the Potter family enjoy their tea, no doubt gossiping over this and that and especially that obnoxiously big new manor next doors.

It was Euphemia who saw her first over her cup. Her blue eyes twinkled as she spotted Antara shyly peeking at them. She took out her wand and with a swish conjured another cup. She filled it with tea from the kettle and pointed at it to Antara.

Taking the invitation for what it was, she took a small breath to steady herself and that overly excited part within her, before taking fast strides towards the table at the pier.

"Now, who do we have here? Dorea, I believe your niece has deemed us worthy of her presence." Euphemia quipped.

"It seems she has. An honor, for sure." Dorea responded deadpan.

Antara had to smile at the two older women giggling like schoolgirls. She wondered if the tea may be more interesting than just simple leafs, but guessed it was just them being silly old ladies.

"Good morning, Aunt Dorea." Antara greeted formally. Then she offered Euphemia her hand. "We didn't have the pleasure yet, I believe. I'm Antara Black."

Euphemia shook her hands equally formal, but always with an indulgent smile on her face. "So well spoken. You weren't kidding Dorea."

"You've seen nothing." her aunt answered. She gestured Euphemia to look at Antara. "Go on, ask her about what we just discussed."

"Maybe she can add some interesting perspective to our discussion, hmm Dorea?" Euphemia pointed at the seat next to her, inviting Antara to sit down. Once she was seated and had accepted the cup of tea, Euphemia leaned back and let her eyes roam over the little Black for a moment. "Do you know of the Hartwick bill?" she asked Antara.

Antara nodded. It was big talk in political circles, with little to no information for the public. The Hartwick bill introduced a rigid set of laws concerning the spread and freedom of Nymphs on british soil. It was introduced by the Free Mage Conglomerate, backed by the Black Alliance and, oddly enough given their usual disagreements, the Mages of the United Kingdom. It was opposed by the Phoenix and the Naturalists and set the Students of Loki into a fit of rage. "I've heard of it, yes." Antara answered.

"What do you think of it?" Euphemia asked, now engrossed by the little seven year old girl.

Antara knew she opposed the Alliance in this - heavily so. It was her old self, firmly standing with his belief that every being was equal of worth and equally worth protecting, but her new self barely disagreed. However, given what she suspected her grandfather to do in the near future, she was confident in speaking her mind freely. "I believe it should be stopped. The Nymphs have already agreed on several borders and protocols concerning their natural behavior towards wizards and the occasional witch. At this point we are blaming them for a shortcoming of our own male populace and I perceive this as unfair to them." She took a small sip from the tea - Darjeeling, evidently - and gave Euphemia a lopsided grin. "Or in other words: No Nymph can be expected to not jump at the chance, if the wizard is jumping at her."

Euphemia burst out in laughter, pounding her knee in unhindered bursts of giggles. Even Dorea, the more composed of the two, almost choked on her tea as she began to loudly laugh.

"Well said. Very well said, indeed." Euphemia declared through her giggles.

Dorea agreed. "I believe I'll tell Charlus that line."

"You know, Dorea." Euphemia held out her cup to her. "I will never understand why Arcturus is so against a female heir. Just look at your little niece here and tell me she isn't just Elladora reborn."

"I'm not entirely sure even aunt Elladora was that interested in politics at that age." Dorea shrugged at Euphemia. "I don't understand him either. He had even taken Antara with him to the Wizengamot a few times, did you know?"

"Oh, really? At that age?" Euphemia just got a flat look from Dorea. "Right, my mistake… I keep comparing to James."

"Where is the little troublemaker, anyway?" Dorea looked around the gardens, and the longer she watched just empty pastures, the more worried her gaze became.

"Huh," was all Euphemia answered as she followed Dorea's eyes over the gardens.

"You…" Dorea sighed dramatically. "Your aggressive lack of worry for your son always astounds me."

"He's not dead, nor is he dying, how bad can it be?"

"With him?" Dorea looked aghast at her. "Is that a trick question?"

"Well,..." Euphemia began answering, but she was interrupted by something crashing open at the far side of the garden, someone whooping in joy and another screaming in terror.

"My point exactly." Dorea grit out.

All three of them shot up from the table and ran towards the commotion, which was hidden behind a gate to an enclosure. Just as Dorea wanted to get through the gateway, they were blown off their feet by a burst of air from above them.

"JAMES!" Dorea screamed at the griffin gaining flight above them.

"Oh, James…" Euphemia groaned in exasperation.

Curious about the five year old version of her old self's father she looked up to the griffin. However, what she saw made her freeze in terror. That little boy screaming was not James. James was having the time of his life on the griffins back. The screams came from someone else.

"SIRIUS!" she and Dorea shouted at the same time.

But their screams did nothing to stop the two boys, not even mentioning the severely annoyed griffin. With more mighty swings of its wings the griffin began its flight towards the lake. It climbed higher in the air and began to accelerate fast. In no time it was giving a Nimbus a run for its money in speed and agility. She saw her little brother desperately holding on while James Potter could be heard laughing over the entirety of the Black lake.

The women ran down towards the lakeside and watched as the griffin did more and more outrageous maneuvers with the two little wizards on its back.

As if the collective panic wasn't enough, Walburga was sprinting over the grass, screaming for Sirius to get down there, completely ignoring that he was most likely not up there voluntarily.

She hopped over the boxbush fence and made through the Potter's garden, only stopping when her aunt Dorea caught her. Dorea did her best to calm her niece down, but it only did so much good to her, when her son was flying on a gigantic, brown griffin so high in the air they could barely make out his head.

Behind her little Regulus came sprinting, and laughing from the top of his lungs at his brother's misfortune. He held the hands of Bellatrix and Andromeda, both trying and utterly failing to keep their chuckles to themselves. Narcissa followed on the arms of Arcturus, also giggling at the display before her.

"What is the meaning of this?" He whirled around to his cousin. "Dorea!"

"Stop right there Arci, I didn't even know they knew each other." she shouted at him.

"Ah, don't worry. Galvan is one of the more docile griffins we have." Euphemia calmly informed, already another cup of tea in her hands.

Dorea did not agree. "Could you please, for _once in your life_ , be worried for your son."

"Would that help?" she replied, nonplussed by what was happening around her. "Galvan will soon be done flying and then he'll come back to the pen. We just pick them off his back."

Now, Galvan had other plans. Instead of landing on the shore, or in the pen, he dove for the water, dragging both Sirius and James down into the depths with him. The griffin came back up with a big fish in his beak, but the two boys were no longer on his back.

While the griffin strut back to his place in the pen, the crowd present ran towards the pier to look for the boys. When after a few moments they still didn't surface, even Euphemia finally had panic in her eyes.

Arcturus was the opposite. The moment true mortal danger was befalling his heir and the young Potter, he grew remarkably calm. Surprisingly agile, Arcturus set down Narcissa and dove down into the water with a practiced header from the pier.

For too long all they saw was bubbles coming from the spot Arcturus dove in. Everybody present held their breath. No one dared speak as every pair of eyes stared down into the lake.

Arcturus broke the surface snapping for air, with two little boys grabbing tight onto his shoulders. He swam to shore, carrying the two boys on his back, but once they could stand in the water he threw them off, built up to his full height and pierced them with the full force of his famous glare.

James and Sirius pointed at each other, then looked at the pointed finger of their respective partner in crime and gave an indignant "Hey!" in unison.

"Enough." Arcturus spoke, using his infamous quiet, but penetrating voice. "James Potter, I cannot give you any punishments as you are not my charge, but be assured that I have never seen anything as asinine as what you two just did and I find myself wondering if shared between the two of you we would be able to find enough brain for a flobberworm."

"Oh, no. You just go ahead, Black. I find myself agreeing with you for once." came another voice behind all of them.

"Potter." Arcturus said in the way of greeting to Fleamont who stood behind the crowd, frowning at the two boys in the water. "Are you sure?"

"Be creative," Fleamont answered.

And hence, doom unfolded over the two five year old boys in the form of Arcturus Black speaking judgement. "Very well. You two flobberworms will do something productive with all your pent up energy. I'm sure the pens of those griffins will need regular cleaning. Every Monday, Wednesday and Tuesday, for the next six months, you will clean them according to the instruction of a houseelve."

 **Chapter n: Political Relationships**

"You're no fun." Bella whined her in the ear. "You really going to give this parchment more attention than me?"

"Bella, I need to get these viewed before tomorrow." Antara tried, but she knew her cousin wouldn't be deterred that easily.

The deep violet eyes twinkled as she let her hands glide over Antara's body. "Now, such a conundrum. How can little Bella solve this puzzle?"

"By going to bed?" Antara gave back, and chided herself for the rather unconvincing tone she took. She also thought that she should've known better than to wear nothing but her silken sleeping gowns for late night work.

"You say that, but I'm getting entirely different signals here." Bella quipped and flicked her hardening nipples. "See here, that tells me that your attention is not on…" she looked down at the parchment. "... the Korlovetz clause."

Antara sighed. "Its hard concentrating when you got a little nuisance in the ear, fondling you like a horny teenager."

"Horny young adult, dear." Bellatrix had enough of Antara's coy playing. With a graceful pirouette around the armchair the young heir had chosen for work, she landed on her lap, straddling her with her strong legs. Slender arms moved around Antara's head, encircled it and then pressed it in between Bella's naked breasts.

"Bellaaa," Antara murmured as a last, formal line of defense, but she knew she was beaten and made to surrender when those Merlin-be-damned violet eyes looked at her like she was a piece of candy, just waiting to be unwrapped.

"Not so interesting any more, those laws, are they?" she said in that husky voice that Bella knew melted her in her fingers.

"It's a clause…" Antara whispered just before her mouth found the lips of Bellatrix. They tasted like tobacco and whiskey, and the steak she had for dinner. Their softness was deliciously contrasted by the needy and forceful manner in which they took control over the kiss. Bella's teeth bit into her lips, her tongue dictated their movement and Antara was content to let herself fall apart in her embrace.

Bellatrix' lips left her and she heard herself whimpering for the loss. They travelled down her neck, followed her chest down to her belly and ended up at her legs that opened at the silent command of Bella's kisses.

Her tongue roamed her clit, with chaotic precision, always on the edge, never reaching quiet where Antara needed it to be. She groaned in frustration eliciting a giggle from the woman between her legs.

Bellatrix wasn't that cruel, though. Giving into the unspoken demand her long tongue caressed her up and down her slit, stroking every bit of it with the utmost care. Just before the movement became frantic, the licks faster and rougher. Bellatrix pressed into her, driving as deep with her tongue as she could.

Antara felt her lower body shiver in excitement. She felt the pressure of her release nearing while her finger dug into the luxurious black curls of Bellatrix, finding purchase to stable her while the rest of her body came apart in rising ecstasy.

Her legs closed around Bellatrix's body as she reached apex. Out of control like the limbs of a puppet with its strings cut, she had to muster all that was left of her consciousness to keep from screaming out.

Bella stood and nestled herself onto the armchair, lifting Antara and seating her back down onto her lap where she entangled her with her legs and arms.

Clarity returned slowly to her while she was leaning into Bellatrix, enjoying her sweet perfume and the residue smell of cinnamon in her hair. Bellatrix wasn't one for stroking or caressing. She grabbed Antara's arse, and one of her breasts with the arm that slung around her body.

"You could have this… Every. Single. Day." Bellatrix murmured to her. "For the rest of your life."

Antara gulped, and fought back the fog of bliss that still hung in her mind. Bellatrix had become entirely too serious, entirely too fast. However, what else was new with Bellatrix?

"You just need to take it, as you took everything else. The only one denying you this is yourself and you know it." she said further, emphasizing her words with a slap on Antara's arse that made her whimper in anewed lust for the violet eyed beauty that held her so possessive. She felt Bella's fingers wrap around her bottom, come through her legs and begin to massage her clit, forcing a moan from her mouth that was cut off by a passionate kiss.

There was not an inch between their bodies when Antara dared look into her cousin's eyes. She had never been able to deny the vibrant, lilac depths in them. Especially not when they made puppy eyes, or were shining as bright as they did now with passion and lust and love.

"Bellatrix," Antara breathed. "I have to apologize."

"For what?"

"For being hesitant." Antara righted herself up. She made sure to look Bella deep in the eyes when she continued. "I want you. I know what people will say but I do not care - no longer. I want - I need you."

Bellatrix' eyes grew wide like saucers. When Antara didn't budge, instead came closer and softly pressed a tender kiss on her lips she had tears in her eyes.

Antara stroked her cheek, followed it to her hair and let her fingers wrap softly around the back of Bella's head before she put their foreheads together. "Grandfather said he would come by tonight. I will tell him… tonight… that you belong to me, and I… I belong to you."

"W-when...?" Bellatrix managed to get out.

"He's probably already waiting." Antara admitted with a smile very evident in her voice. "Go to bed."

"But…"

"I didn't mean your bed, Bella. You know where my room is. I won't be too long."

"Oh,"

"Yes, oh. And don't you fall asleep on me."

They slowly stood up from the armchair. Bellatrix seemed in a daze, but with a soft smile plastered on her face. While Antara looked for a fitting, simple black robe to receive her grandfather with, Bella just used a silken blanket to wrap her naked body in.

Just in that moment they heard a knock on the door.

"My cue, then." Bellatrix murmured and pressed a lingering kiss onto Antara. Standing their height difference made Bella almost a head taller than Antara so that she had too look up. Her petite figure was easily wrapped tight by Bellatrix' well trained body and luxurious curves. Here Antara felt she could breathe freely like nowhere else, despite being so enclosed.

There was another knock on the door and Bellatrix went to open it.

"Good evening, uncle Arcturus." she grinned up at the old man in a cheeky manner and slid past him into the halls of Black Port Manor, the silken blankets doing only the bare minimum to cover her up as it billowed behind her.

He pierced Antara with a stare. "You two had a good evening I presume."

"Something I wanted to talk to you about." Antara replied. She pointed towards the other side of her office, at the couches around the little table where she had her whiskey service. She gave the armchair a last look before following her grandfather to sit on the exact opposite side of the room from her little adventure with Bellatrix.

He let himself fall hard on the pillows. His sigh of relief spoke of a hard day of politicking, despite him just having been on a fishing trip with Fleamont, Edgar and Henry. It was never not politics with those four. However, his eyes also told Antara that he was well aware the discussion weren't at an end for the day; that quite the contrary was the case, indeed.

She poured them both some of the mead the Slughorns have gifted her. It was exquisite, and it would be just the right stuff to follow along with what she had to talk about.

"I'm an old man, Antara. I don't wish to be bored with emotional hiccups." He grabbed the glass of mead and drank a good gulp of it down before facing her.

"No hiccups, I assure you."

"I'm not talking about what you think." he replied. "Have you gotten any mail from Sirius, or Andromeda?"

"Not in a long while."

"Me neither. Hence why I had some friends inform me of the current status of my niece and grandson." He took another gulp. He was visibly torn between sides by whatever he had been informed of. Antara was intrigued.

"Sirius and James have not talked to each other in a month."

"What?! Why?"

"You have three guesses. What is it that always comes between men?"

She rolled her eyes. "A girl?"

"Winner." he confirmed in that same, somewhat bored, somewhat exasperated tone. "Her name is Lily… something. Ethans? E… E… E… something with E."

"Evans?" Antara offered, already preparing her "many fish in the sea" speech for Sirius.

"That was it. Muggleborn, you see. Of course Sirius couldn't fall in love with a pureblooded girl, that would have been too easy."

"And James got her, so now Sirius is sulking?" Antara took a wild guess.

Arcturus just raised a questioning brow. "You think too little of your brother. Whatever miscreant he is, he _is_ a charmer. No, no… its James that is sulking."

"Wha…" Antara's brain seemed to grind to a halt. "Sirius is… with Lily?"

"Aye… and I haven't even brought you the best part."

"Oh, what now?" Antara held her face in horror. Somewhere along the line she had altered things in a way that her old life's father did not get together with her old life's mother. Was this the goodbye to a future Harry Potter? She took a big swig of mead.

It was during her drinking that Arcturus let the Erumpent Horn fall. "She's pregnant."

Antara spat out the mead over the entire table and almost suffocated from coughing out the mead that had jumped into her airways at the news.

"She is WHAT?!" Antara shouted through the room. "For fucks sake… SIRIUS!"

"She's also keeping it." Arcturus continued unperturbed, or rather just exhausted and tired, as Antara believed now. "A half-blood Black bastard. Toujours Pur… right."

But Antara wasn't as caught up in the half-blood part, as she was in the "bastard child" part. They were firmly within the ranks of the moderate parties, right between the Malfoy Alliance and the Naturalists in belief and creed. Her thoughts went from one member to the next. All in all, she thought that Arcturus was not thinking about this the right way. "They have to marry."

"Excuse me?"

"Marry. Sirius and Lily Evans. He fucked this up, no doubt, and she did her part in it as well, but we can salvage this. I know Lily Evans. Gryffindor. Brilliant witch. Charms and Potion prodigy and is so enraptured by wizarding culture, she stopped wearing anything but robes in third year. She is the epitome of what the Slytherinian ideal means."

Arcturus sat up, rubbing his chin, now keenly listening to his granddaughter and heir as she spun another string in her web.

"But our allies within and without the party, not counting the Malfoys, are going to be put off by the bastard child being born and the Phoenix may as well start printing their campaign now, with how their religious crowd is going to devour that tidbit." She took another gulp of the mead, and refilled her glass to give herself a few seconds of thinking time. "It's not important how they marry. It's important that they do at all. If the Phoenix uses Lily as example that we pressured her into the Celtic or Norse circles, we can slap that back at them as patronization of muggleborn - not allowing them to choose on their own, as if they were children."

Arcturus nodded and then inclined his head. "I didn't think about it like this."

"Old habits," Antara shrugged. "We're no longer the HoBA. We're the Forum, and we gotta embrace it, especially in situations like this."

"And what about the family?" Arcturus gave her a sympathetic smile. "Let me just express my doubt that they will... embrace this."

"Err…" Antara frowned. Their family was an entirely different can of worms. She believed that she would be able to get her mother on board, if - and only if - Lily was the perfect pureblood witch in manners and grace, even if not in blood. In some corner of Walburga's mind she had probably already given up on Sirius ever becoming her perfect pureblood prince. What was a bit of muggleborn daughter in law after all the trouble Sirius caused? Hell, their mother might even be thankful that he was finally being tamed.

The rest of the bunch would have to deal with it, unless they wanted to risk Antara's wrath. "I'll set them right." she finally declared. "On this one at least. You said something about Andromeda."

"Oh yes, Bella is going to love this." Arcturus spat out sarcastically. "Similar story really, just that with Cygnus' daughters we have the issue of several pureblood heirs having their eyes on them. Rejection is not something they especially excel at."

"Would have fooled me with those incetious pricks."

Arctururs scoffed. "Someone's throwing Reductos in the greenhouse."

"Ehm…" Antara's cheeks started to glow a bright red. "R-Right. So Andromeda is also in love with a muggleborn?"

"Don't think we're not talking about this."

"I know, I know…" Antara waved off. "What's the name of that muggleborn?" she asked, even though her old memories already gave her the answer.

"I never said anything about a muggleborn. I said _similar_." Arctururs shook his head in exasperation and emptied his second glass of mead. "It's the merlin be damned French."

Wait what? Antara caught herself again taking her former life for granted in so many ways. Ted Tonks had been decidedly _not_ french. He had been one of the most un-french people Harry had known.

"So… that isn't too bad?" Antara forced her to say.

"Wouldn't be, if the French wouldn't let Veela into their school and therefore…"

"... in the Black Forum Exchange Program. Oh boy." Antara dropped back into the lean of the couch and fortified herself with the last mead in her own glass. "Well, at least it's a Veela. It's not like we'll have to explain the illicit affair of Andromeda Black with a centaur or something depraved like that."

"Counting our blessings there."

"Oh well… Great result of our exchange program, bla bla bla, international cooperation through fratenization, bla bla bla, or some cockswallow like this... " Antara let her head roll over the lean to look at her grandfather. "I'm just going out of a limb here and assume I haven't just missed a male Veela suddenly being a thing?"

"No… that girl…" Arcturus pressed out an impressed pant. "She is definitely a woman."

"This generation is going back to the roots something fierce, eh?" Antara joked. "Marriage to avoid bastards, affairs with magical creatures, so gay we'd make Coven witches blush,…"

"A tiny bit incestious." Arcturus joined in.

Antara gulped. "Look… grandfather…"

"My word. I have given up my hope for responsible grandchildren a long time ago." He gave a heartfelt belly laugh. "I'm just glad they're led by the most intelligent and depraved of them all."

"Uhm… thanks?"

He righted himself up. Without asking he poured both of them another glass and chinked them both together. "To your health."

"To your health," she repeated and took the formal small sip one usual took after a toast.

"So tell me… what is this about Bellatrix leaving your office with nothing but white silken blankets saving her from nudity?"

"I guess…" Antara hesitated. She felt her mouth go dry with guilt at loading just another grievance onto her grandfather's shoulders and took a sip to both buy her time and wet her tongue. However, she was no coward and her grandfather deserved the truth. Everybody involved deserved the truth to be known. "I love her."

Arcturus remained silent, only studying is granddaughter as he knew she would tell her story in her own time.

"It started in… fourth year? Yes. We kinda… explored this together, I think. We also decided that boys were stupid." she said with a snort at the memory of them being put out at even the idea of a man putting his you-know-what into their you-know-where. "We had sex in seventh year for the first time."

"And you enjoyed it." Arcturus didn't ask, but just stated a fact.

Antara laughed, and shook her head. "No, I loved it. I had small… things… with other girls."

"I know."

"Yeah, I know you do." She waved her hands around looking for words to describe what she felt. "With Bellatrix… it was just so much more."

"And now? Is it still more, or just some playing around?" Arcturus pressed on. He had never been interested in the emotional part of relationships, his wife Melania excluded. It was always about the change of the status quo that came with relationships and how it would affect the great project of the Black family. He continued. "You are aware that I have, with no exaggeration, dozens of inquiries concerning you and Bellatrix' availability? Those are just the ones I seriously considered. Now, as my heir and the future Matriarch of the Black family, you must understand how important it is that the answers you give me clarify this poussage you cultivated with your cousin."

"Its not just an affair." Antara gave back rather louder than she intended. "I do not say lightly that I love someone. But I love Bellatrix."

"Dorea has offered to arrange a meeting with her son, Aurelius for Bellatrix. These offers aren't wiped away lightly."

"They are inconsequential."

"Inconse… ?! Are you mad?"

"I am not mad. They are irrelevant because Bellatrix is not available - because I am not available." Antara stood up. She began pacing fast back and forth in the room to work out the pressure that has settled in her mind. "I love Bellatrix - my cousin. I love my cousin. She isn't available. She is mine. She _belongs_ to me and me alone."

"Antara…"

"And I belong to her. I will never, ever share a bed with anyone else ever again. That's my final word." She set her glass down with a loud crashing sound, and with only mad luck didn't the glass break in her hand.

Arcturus rose his hands to calm his granddaughter down. He knew as well as anyone who was familiar with Antara that when she got angry, she felt deeply about something. "Please, sit."

"I…" she frowned, but still plopped down onto the couch again. "I love her."

Arcturus sighed and hid his face in his hands for a few moments. The full glass of mead was then sloshed down in one gulp, then another and just then did his glass hit the table and his gaze that of Antara. "You know, I am glad I have chosen you, five years ago. You always had a feeling for politics, people… sniffed out intrigues left and right even as a child. In all that you never forgot your ideals and convictions. You never had the taint of being a fairweather allie, or an opportunist. In all of Britain, maybe even in Europe, you're known as someone of ideals. Being an idealist is not always something good, but you make it work. You always did. And… I think what I'm trying to say is… I don't like this. At all. I think you should find respectable men, have children with them and just play your cousin's games when the public isn't looking. But…" he threw his arms up, unable to put in words what he was thinking.

"I will marry her. Publicly. It will be a huge fest - several days, starting on Beltane." Antara whispered to him. "We'll use coven-potions to have children. Lots of them." she added with a small smile on her face.

To her relief he smiled back, with that same smile he always had when she did something he disapproved of, but he was still sure she would do well. "You remind me so much of aunt Elladora, yet even she would have never… never had the courage."

"Is that why she never had children?"

He scoffed. "No. She never had children because she was a stone cold bitch, with no Bellatrix to melt her down from time to time." he said with a laugh.

"You always had a way of complimenting me." she replied deadpan.

Arcturus gave her a mocking look. "Antara, I have seen Wizengamot veterans almost wet themselves when you glared at them. Stone cold bitch is an apt description of your public presence."

She snorted and held her glass out for her grandfather to toast. He let his own chink against it and they both drank the last bit of the exquisite mead in silence. They contemplated what was said, next to each other, while leaving the other be to his thoughts.

It was only when both had emptied their glasses that Arcturus made to leave. He was stopped by Antara speaking.

"I want the family together for Beltane in two weeks. It should be a simple dinner and fire. Its gonna be about Sirius and Andromeda… and about Bella and me. We'll announce and introduce all in one go." she gave it another thought. "I'll write to them. I will also invite Lily and that Veela."

"That…" Arcturus inclined his head and his smile got an amused, but doubtful look to it. "Those are going to be interesting festivities."

"I count on it." she said and watched as a laughing Arcturus walked out of her office and into the dark corridors of Black Port Manor.

Antara only gifted her tables full of paper and parchment one last, disdainful look and decided to call it a day. She would wing the special council meeting tomorrow. Swiftly she made her way to her bedroom, opened the door and knew once more that she had made the right decision.

Bellatrix was lying on her side, naked and only with a strip of silk through her legs, in a way that made Antara spot her immediately just with the sparse light of the moon softly playing along her curves. Had she not been fast asleep, Antara would have lost her robes faster than one could say a vanishing spell.

But she was fast asleep and so Antara was as quiet as she could be while undressing. She tip-toed towards the bed, laid herself next to Bella and covered them together under the thick woolen blankets. She cuddled herself into the crook of Bella's neck, and pressed herself as tight against her as she reasonably could without waking her, finding sleep faster than she had for years, and dreams sweeter than ever.

The following days, Antara decided to deliver the letters of invitation to her brother, her cousin and their lovers herself. Sirius and Andromeda had still not written. Antara looked forward to glaring at them like naughty little children.

It wasn't just her desire to play the big, bad Black matriarch that led her to Hogwarts, it was also a massive, and incredibly frustrating case of procrastination. She had yet to ask Bellatrix to marry her. They slept together, they worked next to each other in the manor, and they spent as much meals in shared solitude as possible. Merlin, they as much as agreed to it already, several times over. Yet, not once had the words come out. At the last moment, always when she had the courage together, she deflated like a popped balloon and kept silent.

So she walked through Hogsmeade and up the cobblestone way to Hogwarts to spend time in the sun, away from the pier where Bellatrix lay in the skimpiest bathing suit she could have possibly found and read through a stack of books for her Mastery dissertation. It was, of course, only by sheer chance that the spot Bellatrix chose was exactly where she could be seen from the window of Antara's office.

It was too soon to suffer defeat at the hands of Bellatrix' sex appeal, hence her way towards the gates of Hogwarts, so that other people's raging libido would be the matter of discussion and hers safely forgotten in that small wooden box on her desk, in the form of a golden ring.

Professor McGonagall awaited her at the gate to the Entry Hall. The strict woman looked as regal and imposing as ever.

"Miss Black, to what do we owe the honor?"

"I could lie and make up some pretend inspection, but truly it is just family business, I'm afraid. Could you do me a favor and get a hold of Andromeda, Sirius, Lily Evans and uhm…" Antara looked down at the four letters in her hands, looking for the last name. "Lylou Belrose?"

"Lily Evans? I don't see why it would be family…" McGonagall started, but abruptly let her mouth fall shut at the bored look she received from Antara.

"When we haven't heard from Sirius for weeks, grandfather asked around. We know."

"Of course you do." McGonagall sniffed in obvious disapproval, but nevertheless began leading Antara towards her office. "What do you want with Miss Belrose, though?"

"I always wondered if the Heads of House know as much about students from other Houses as they do of theirs. Evidently, they don't." Antara showed McGonagall the two letters addressed to Andromeda and Lylou. "It seems Andromeda has become rather intimate with Miss Belrose. These are invitations to a small Beltane dinner."

"For all four of them?"

"For all four."

"That comes… unexpected." The old Professor sounded surprised. "We had assumed that you would be against this relationship. After all, Miss Evans is a…"

"We?" Antara interrupted the, no doubt, accusation that would have followed. One that she had grown tired of years ago.

"The faculty." McGonagall answered a bit too fast for Antara's liking. Then again, the message was clear. Dumbledore had seen a chance to bring a Black into the fold of the Phoenix and has taken it.

She couldn't even be mad at the old man. As far as politics in magical Britain went, that was a tame and civilized attempt. She would have done the same. Yet, at the very least, just out of spite, she would not let this one pass unanswered. However, she saved her planning for a more calm moment. They were entering McGonagall's office and Antara prepared to have some choice words with her little brother.

"An elve has brought the message to all four that they are to come to my office. Horace is informed as well. While we wait: Tea?"

"I could go for a spot."

McGonagall served them well brewed Earl Grey, made stronger as usual, but she figured you'd need that as a Professor at Hogwarts. Despite the niceties, Antara felt the antipathy against voice of the Professor was rather cold when she made for conversation. "How is life treating you, Miss Black?"

"I cannot complain. Politics is a harsh business, but rewarding."

"The Prophet is singing your praises every day. Horace can barely contain his gushing most of the time. Although I wonder... " McGonagall trailed off.

Antara barely kept herself from rolling her eyes at the Professor. She could deal with false civility and masking politeness. What she could barely tolerate was unwarranted superiority.

"Please continue, Professor. What troubles you?"

"You know me, Miss Black, I am not one for those games of words played in the political arena. I like to be frank."

"Then be so."

"It is your plans of the… "modernization" of Hogwarts. It is my understanding that the Ministry has no business in the dealings of Hogwarts, and even the Council has only limited authority."

Antara nodded. "Indeed, in Hogwarts the headmaster has the last word."

"Then why this law? If it has no binding effect whatsoever?"

Antara just smiled at her old Professor, and made sure that it looked sufficiently patronizing. "There are more schools of magic than Hogwarts. The new law will apply to them, first and foremost."

"Does that include your… what was it? Black Academy of Higher Magics?"

"Even better," Antara let her cup down onto the little plate without much noise. "It will spearhead the new changes. Masteries will finally have a barebone curriculum, with none of the arbitrary nature of apprenticeships. Qualifications won't be a matter of random chance anymore."

McGonagall scoffed, but decided to not comment on the Academy. "While interesting, for sure, I'm more concerned about the clauses for muggleborns. Especially the mandatory Magical Culture Studies."

"Why so?"

"It is indoctrination."

"Introduction, more like."

"Call it what you want, it still is…"

Antara had heard the Phoenix' argument a hundred times by now. She was done listening to it and just interrupted McGonagall in what would have definitely become a rant. "Did you know that over eighty percent of muggleborn are incapable of opening a vault at Gringotts after Hogwarts without being ripped off by Goblins? Seventy percent have no clue about our political systems, or their rights and duties within it. They regularly get entrapped in details of the Statute of Secrecy by simple ignorance. They don't know how to file for permits, how to order an international portkey - or when doing so would be needed, or that there are even different magical nations within Britain itself. If I would start about smaller things like their ignorance of fashion and etiquette, I could monologue into the late evening." she paused to read McGonagall's expression. She had a frown on her face, but Antara could see that her points had found some foothold within her former Professor. She continued. "Magical Culture Studies should rectify much of these shortcomings. We are not interested in forcing them out of their birthplace in the muggle world, only in providing them the tools to succeed in the new one they have entered."

"Still," she answered. "Professor Dumbledore remains sceptic of the law, given your… track record."

"I have never personally spearheaded an anti-muggle or muggleborn bill."

"But you have supported a good number of them."

"None of them were directly against the muggleborn minority," Antara then waved any counter McGonagall was about to say away. "And isn't that the reason the Alliance has split? We are no longer bound to keeping the peace with Malfoy's ilk."

The professor gave Antara a rare, approving look. "True. You have played a great role in that, if I understood correctly."

"It was by and large my idea." Antara shrugged and leaned back into the wooden chair. "I find our new position very comfortable, even if it requires far more bargaining."

McGonagall smiled. "Horace predicted your success, you know?. I personally believed it to be the end of the Black headlock in the Wizengamot, but you have proven me wrong. Your family - you still hold onto all strings."

"Almost all. Albus is notoriously hard to… convince of things."

"Maybe it would be prudent to let yourself be convinced from time to time? He is, after all, Albus Dumbledore."

"Now you're just joking with me." Antara playfully replied.

"Not at all." McGonagall leaned forward and her voice became a whisper, even in the locked room. "He still awaits your reply to his letter. We cannot let this matter fester uncontrolled."

"To believe I would even consider…" Antara felt herself getting louder. She breathed in and she breathed out, slowly and controlled. "I'm not in the business of answering offers as mental as that. He wants our forces combined? Very well. But not solely under him."

"He is the defeater of Grindelwald. Who better than him?"

"He could be Merlin himself, I would not rally wands for his command." She hissed. "It is insulting how naive he thinks I am. Make no mistake, Albus Dumbledore is a politician and I'm not making a habit out of giving the opposition the tools to dismantle my organisations."

McGonagall opened her mouth, but Antara cut her off. "If Albus believes he is the only one fighting this "Dark Lord", he is either delusional, or his intelligence operatives aren't worth whatever they're getting paid. At least mine procure information. Enough that I know that Albus needs me, I do not need him."

"He is the reason this madman hasn't shown himself openly." the professor countered.

"And will he cease to be just that when I don't offer my allegiance to him? Because nothing less is what he asks. He has not asked for partnership, or alliance - no union of the willing. He asked for the families of my Forum to recognize him as leader in a war he seemingly hasn't even started to understand. Which is why I am content in having him here, sit in his headmaster's throne and be the containment."

"Then share this information. How can you expect him to understand something you allegedly know, without letting him know?"

"Because you leak." Antara took a sip from her tea while McGonagall's mind caught up with the implication.

She gasped in indignation. "Spies? How… How dare you!?"

"No, no, no…" Antara shrugged. "Just blabbermouths - unwary exchanges of information. I doubt you have many, if any active spies within your ranks. However, what you do have are a lot of are amateurs. I cannot entrust information to an organisation that speaks about operations in the Hogshead over a pint."

McGonagall's eyes were widening just slightly, letting Antara know that her agents had once more done their work diligently. She wasn't sure if she could do more with being secretive about the information, but she did know that if she kept it to herself, there may be deaths on the Order's side. Her eyes studied McGonagall for a moment, until her past lives sympathy for the woman won out. "On the third or fourth of Mai, you plan to infiltrate the Nimbus offices to find evidence against Jakobus Nott. You send at least a three man team, one of them an… Auror? Gringotts field operative? Someone highly skilled with combat training, in any case, who will be responsible for the cursebreaking required. One of the members of this coup will be a young adult witch from Cornwall, brown hair, pureblood, rich… Marissa Abbott?"

"L-Lisa…" McGonagall whispered, gobsmacked by what she was hearing.

"Lisa Abbott? She never struck me as particularly interested in cloak and dagger activities. But she definitely fits the description of rookie."

"How do you know all this?"

"As I said, you employ amateurs." Antara took one of the biscuits that came with the tea and nibbled on it. "Take this warning as a gesture of good will. The operation is blown before it even started. If I know it, so does the Dark Lord. One of my employees heard your boys speak about how "Highman" would try to get into the girl's - Lisa's, I presume - knickers, by being especially impressive during the mission in front of the rookie. Well… if he wants to show off how well he does fighting Death Eaters, his friends have done him a favor and directed them right at him."

"I need to inform Albus…" McGonagall said more to herself than Antara.

"You see now, why I am so hesitant to even inform you of the basics?"

"Yes," the professor seemed to visibly deflate. All her fight left her as she admitted. "We'll have to improve. Fast."

"Yes, you do." Antara began, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. She gave McGonagall a small smile. "Now to more pleasant business."

"Enter," McGonagall righted herself in her chair, straightened out her robe and seemed for all about to come in like she hadn't just been told of the dysfunction of the paramilitary she partly commanded.

Antara stood and placed herself in a more shadowy corner of the room. She knew it was petty, but she wanted to scare the everlasting shite out of her brother. Having gotten no letters was a testament to how little he trusted her, and it stung. Some retribution was in order. She waved her wand and cast a fast and light disillusionment charm on herself. It was more camouflage, than invisibility, but it would be enough. McGonagall only credited it with a roll of her eyes.

The wooden door opened to reveal Sirius and Lily, both carrying their bookbags with one hand and holding each other with the other hand. "You wanted to see us, Professor?"

"Please, come in." McGonagall pointed them towards two chairs galloping to the desk and stopping there. "We have something of a more personal nature to discuss."

Obediently, they sat down onto the chairs, their hands still intertwined like a lifeline. It was cute, Antara thought, but she still couldn't shake the odd feeling of seeing Sirius holding that hand instead of James. It wasn't the only change from her previous life by far, but it was one of the weirdest for her.

"Professor, if it is about the…" Sirius stopped mid sentence. He couldn't say whatever it was that he wanted to speak.

"The child." Lily helped out. She sat more upright in her chair. Prouder. Her schoolbag forgotten, she let her hand move over her belly in a somewhat protective manner. "We have decided to keep it. And Sirius…" The smile she gave Antara's little brother was something to frame and hang in a gallery. It was as bright as the summer sun, and lightened the mood of the room just as much. "He's taking a stand." she said and held up her right hand where a small, golden ring with a tiny diamond glistered on her fingers.

Antara decided to let that be her cue. "That will make things decidedly easier."

She really had to keep her facial expression down and her entire body from giving into the urge to laugh. Sirius and Lily almost jumped to the roof when they heard her voice and saw her walk from the shadows to stand behind them. She let her hands grab a shoulder of each of them. A sigh, dramatic pause, a tsk for her brother; disappointed look at him, encouraging look at Lily aaand action. "Brother mine, I haven't heard from you in time no see, what's new with you?" she said in a voice that left no doubt that she knew exactly what was "new".

Once again it was Lily that took over the role of the courageous one while Sirius was frozen in shock like an icicle. Lily's voice was channeling the shock into fury, however, and her voice was icy cold as she spoke. "There is nothing you can do. We're both seventeen - legal adults! Sirius is not your property."

Antara threw her arms up, not knowing what to say to that. Instead she faced Sirius. "Merlin dammit, what the hell have you told her about me?"

"Uhm…" Sirius replied eloquently.

"You know. It hurt when I had to be informed about your relationship and _my future niece or nephew_ by grandfather, who has been briefed on it by rumours and gossip." It had, and Antara was incapable of leaving said hurt out of her tone. "When did I ever give you the feeling like you couldn't come to me with anything, Sirius? Tell me. I don't know."

"It…" he mumbled. "I… You see... "

"Sirius,"

"I know, I know. Full sentences." He threw up his arms in the same way Antara had done and rang for words. When none came, but instead his eyes became wet from tears Antara just dropped her spiel and became his big sister. She cuddled him in a tight hug, his head in the crook of her neck and her own hands rubbing circles on his back. "Its ok. We're ok, Sirius. I don't know what the hell happened for you to be this… secretive."

"Lily is a muggleborn." he quietly mumbled into her ear.

"Aye…" she nodded. "And have you ever seen me show any antipathy against muggleborn?"

"Not you…" Sirius grabbed her tighter. "Mother, grandfather, our uncles and aunts…"

"And who's the Matriarch of the Black family."

"You."

"Damn right I am."

Sirius laughed into her neck and Antara chuckled with him. She took his face in her hand and saw, again, how big her brother has become. He easily towered over her when standing, but as he sat there he was little Siri again, who came to her bed to hide from monsters, real and imaginary. She wiped away his tears.

"Now, lets try this again, Miss Evans." Antara said and whirled around to face Lily. She held out her hand, back side up. "I am Antara Elladora Black, Elder of the Wizengamot and Matriarch of the Black family."

She was impressed by the casual knowledge Lily demonstrated by bringing her own back of the hand beneath hers, before twisting it and shaking Antara's hand in greeting. Perfectly executed. Antara had hopes for the dinner, if Lily would curb her glistering glare.

"Lily Evans." she replied.

"Its good to finally meet you… may I call you Lily?"

Her query was just answered with a simple nod.

"Thank you, Lily. So I've heard you two were a teeny tiny bit irresponsible." She gave Lily's belly a pointed look.

"Sirius stands to the baby." Lily grabbed her belly again, shielding it from Antara. "He proposed to me a few days ago."

"As I said, that makes things easier." Antara turned around to Sirius again. "I would have pressured you to do so, now that you'll become a father."

"It was the right thing to do. And its not like… like I don't love her. I do. Things could've… you know."

Antara grinned at her brother. "Been slower?"

"Yeah…"

"I'm proud of you, Sirius." she said and wrapped her little brother in another hug. "And I'm happy for you. Here…" she stood up and produced the two envelopes for him and Lily. She held them out to them and both took the parchment slowly and carefully.

"Whats that?" Lily asked.

"An invitation. We will have a small Beltane feast at the first of May, where I want the family to attend. Given your new status as fiancee of my brother, that also includes you."


End file.
